Not The Usual Case
by Magician Irono
Summary: First they weren't even sure what the monster was. Then there was the question of who.
1. Chapter 1

Ok, I bet you guys are sticklers about your continuity and your time setting. I get that. However, if we were going by the specific chronological settings of each, they really wouldn't line up. During the eighties and nineties, Sam and Dean would be way too young to be hunting when the child murders take place. Then you get to 2017, when the events of FNAF 3 take place, and we don't even know for sure if both brothers are alive. So what I did was bump up the events of FNAF 2 to the first and second seasons of Supernatural for a two big reasons.

1.) Seasons 1 and 2 seem to have a lot of filler compared to other seasons (I haven't been able to go back to the series since Bobby died in season 7), so I find it the most plausible that a case like investigating what happens in the pizzeria would occur in this time frame. I would still keep with the events prior, such as the Fredbear Family Diner and the sister location of Fredbear's, in the back story.

2.) Sam still has his abilities. Not the ability to exorcise demons and the like (that would make this story a bit too short) but least he still has the premonitions (like in the episode "Nightmare") and the ability to pick up on supernatural energies (Such as in the episode "Home"). I want to try and work some of that stuff into the story and some of the easter eggs FNAF has to offer. Hopefully you like it.

So what time period is this in? I've picked the year 2005, since it's when Sam and Dean start out hunting together, but it takes place with the FNAF 2 location and with FNAF 2 events, Namely having to face 11 animatronics instead of 4 or 5 and the victim of what would have been the "Bite of '87". I also intend to use some of what the book had to offer, though I have actually never read the book. Call me out if I goof anything up, ok?

With all that out of the way, we can get on with the story. Enjoy!

Part 1

 _Ring~_

 _Ring~_

 _Ring~_

 _Ca-click._

" _Hello, hello! Uh, what on earth are you doing there!? Didn't you get the memo?"_

Shaking hands hammered the mouse. Blood drummed in the man's ears. Vents creaked from an indeterminable location. If only the music box would wind faster, then he could actually calm down. The camera went down. The guard flicked on the lights. Nothing yet.

 _"Uh, the place is closed down, a-at least for a while."_

The camera went back up. Piercing garble met him with another toss of fear in his chest. His throat seemed to slam shut at the sound. That goddam mess of parts! And that damned music box! "C'mon, c'mon," he stuttered. "Wind up faster, _please_!"

 _"Someone used one of the suits. . . We had a spare in the back. A yellow one. Someone used it. Now none of them are acting right. . ."_

Lights. Music box. Lights. Music box. Lights. Music box. Lights. Tiny white eyes peered at him from the front hallway, a shiney hook and sharp fangs catching beads of light. But Foxy didn't move. Not one bit. The guard clenched his teeth and hammered the button to the flashlight. He knew the mask wouldn't do him any good just yet.

Did the vents just creak? He didn't know, but this was definitely the worst time for his ears to be playing tricks on him.

 _"Listen, j-just finish your shift. It's safer than trying to leave in the middle of the night."_

They were getting closer. He could see it now: Red eyes glaring from one vent, a beakless Chica smiling in the right, her uncanny monstrosity of an older sister on the prowl. This wasn't good. The guard bit his lip. He tasted blood. They were really active tonight.

He couldn't let any of them in. No matter what.

 _"Uh, we have one more event scheduled for tomorrow: A birthday. You'll be on day shift."_

Lights flickered. The air burned with a malicious energy. He looked up from the screen and stared. With askew eyes, microphone in hand and jaw slack, worn and coated in grime, Freddy Fazbear glared down. It did not move. The guard did not move. No time for the extra head now.

The flickering stopped. Freddy disappeared. It was over.

 _"Wear your uniform, stay close to the animatronics, make sure they don't hurt anyone, ok?"_

This wasn't good. He felt the color leave his face, his blood run cold. This job was one of three- What would his family do about money? How does a mother explain that Daddy won't be coming back from work? He reached for his pocket, pulled out his wallet for one last look at-

"Aaaaaaaugh!"

 _Snap!_

 _"Uh, for now, Just make it through the night. Uh, when the place eventually opens again, I'll probably just take the night shift myself."_

The room was silent. The music box went unwound and "Pop! Goes The Weasel" rang out through the halls of the restaurant. On the ground, a leather wallet lay open next to an empty bear head. A girl and a woman, almost identical, hugged and smiled in front a backdrop of green bushes and yellow flowers. It was a simple and powerful reminder of what a living man could fight for. Down the hall, a giant bear dragged a man's body away. The head lolled to the side at a crooked angle.

 _"Ok, good night. And good luck."_

SPN x FNAF

 _Colorado Springs, Colorado._

"Dude, there is no way you can finish all that."

Dean looked up mid-chew with sauce speckled on the corner of his mouth. The brothers found themselves in Colorado Springs for another job hunt, having parked the Impala to grab a bite to eat. Summer heat and humidity were not kind during this month, so the two vouched for the closest diner around and mosied to one named "Black Bear", just after the Sunday lunch rush had dissipated. And it was not a poor choice. Impeccable air conditioning, friendly (and cute) waitresses, large portions, economical prices- The air was warm, cool, and amazingly aromatic all at once. Even the black bears all over the place were adorable in their own right, enough to ease the torment of watching food pass by that wasn't theirs. Winchesters never visit a town twice, but they just might have had to make an exception.

"Oh, I'll find a way," the elder replied. He started sawing the knife into another corner of his chicken fried steak. "There's no way this is going to waste."

"That's why you get a take out box." That comment earned an eye roll and Sam protectively pulled the white styrofoam container a bit closer to him, next to his plate of avocado burger, already divided in half.

"Yeah, if you're a wuss." Dean swallowed and went after another bite. "You said you had a new case?"

". . . We _might_ have a new case." The trusty laptop that had been sitting in the middle of the table had been spun around. At least five or six tabs had been opened up; Newspaper articles, business reports, and the like. Dean leaned in to skim. Sam started talking. "There's supposed to be a pizzeria chain in the area, or at least one of the locations: Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. Think rip-off Chuck E. Cheese's. They've got arcades, pizza, kids, alliteration, animatronics- the works. Super popular in the eighties and nineties, not so much anymore."

"So what happened?"

"Can't say for sure." The younger plucked off a slice of avocado from his plate to munch on. "There have been strange disappearances. Two of them. Both with children, both in groups of five. But the event was never caught on camera. They didn't have enough evidence to convict someone and no one ever found the children. The place kind of faded into a sense of normalcy until recently. A number of night guards have mysteriously disappeared over the past few weeks. Seems like it averaged about one per week. Again, the bodies were never found."

"So what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking we need more information. The kids don't have any connections it seems, but the night guards always disappeared within the same time frame: on their night shifts. Between midnight and 6 am."

"The witching hour."

"Yes, the witching hour." Sam clicked around with the mouse pad. Monsters usually were predictable in some way or another. "Either the same thing changed up it's style or it's two different things at the same place. Whichever the more likely event is is beyond me."

"You think there's something about it in Dad's journal?"

"I'm pretty sure he would have mentioned a pizzeria with disappearing children if he came across it." Light green eyes flicked back and forth across the screen again. The clamor of knives and pots ignited in the back. Sam smeared his hand over his mouth, deep in thought. ". . . I don't want to take any sort of chance here. We should scope the place out, see what we can find."

"Alright. So where is it?"

". . . It's in Aurora." More clicking. "This state, actually. At worst, it's a two hour drive north. And from the looks of it. . . the pizzeria is open today and tomorrow. We have time to plan, at least."

"Good." Dean flagged down a waitress from the front desk. "We can get a list of victims and check in with their families. Maybe some of them survived. For now, let's get out of here."

"Ok, but you need a box."

"Ugh, fine. I'll get a box. But this doesn't mean I gave up."

". . . I never accused you of that."

With a shimmering blonde pixie cut, faint bronzer and a ruby-lipped smile, their server sauntered back to the table. Her name tag read "Amy". The older brother flaunted a credit card and gave a flirtatious wink. The joke was on him anyways. What would have been a quick payment turned into a second swipe of that Visa. Dean may not have been aware that he had fell under the spell so easily, but Sam wasn't going to try and break him out of it. All he could do was roll his eyes at the prey of what he knew were manipulative sales tactics.

At least the mundane ride to Aurora had been spiced with some good 'ol Metallica and the aroma of a homemade cherry pie tucked tightly in the back seat.

SPN x FNAF

 _Aurora, Colorado._

The motel wasn't refined, nor did it quite meet the quality that the Black Bear Diner did. The pastel curtains were a bit much and none of the furniture seemed to match at all. But the place still had a warm character about it anyways, like a worn grandfather with tales upon tales to spin. Hell, anything would have been warm and welcoming after the nightmare of that traffic. Nothing was really lacking. Room 205 of the off-the-map, family owned motel had a decent view of the parking lot and stretch of cracked road from one window of the second floor. The other housed a functioning A/C unit complete colored strands of yarn billowing softly from the grate. A table, two metal chairs, a mini fridge and a black microwave on top took up a small corner just right of the entrance. Trinkets of all kinds had been sealed into the wax of the table's top- photos, game pieces, ticket stubs and anything else one could imagine. To the left of the entrance a small, cathode ray television set sat atop a mahogany cabinet with a VHS player inside. Another door further off led to a clean bathroom, complete with a shower, sink, toilet and baby blue tiles on the walls. The beds were completely different, down to the frame, but neither brother had an issue with picking or nesting. What remained of the college boy within Sam longed for the softer mattress and fluffy, lavender comforter. Dean, being the hardened hunter that he was, opted for the firmer pillows and thinner sheets of the second bed. All the better to spring out of sleep and into action, after all.

Now, normally, they would be riffling through fake aliases and devising courses of action. Floor plans would be laid out, laptop propped open, gears grinding and turning against each other. Dean would most likely be picking through which weapon to carry (for safety sake, of course) and his collection of I.D. cards that paid homage to the music taste of his father. And this was normally because they were not sure if they were wanted or not. Big and expansive companies with weight to their names such as the CDC and FBI were no problem. It wasn't a question of whether or not they were wanted. If they came, the others had to step aside. But this time was different. And all it took was one poster outside of a gas station as they were on their way to the motel.

 _Help wanted,_ it had said. _Grand re-opening! Vintage pizzeria given new life! Come be a part of the new face of Freddy Fazbear's! What could go wrong?_

No, it wasn't the usual cover-up, but a run-of-the-mill minimum wage job could work. The phone number had been put right on the advertisement, as were the hours and the pay. In addition to the demand of their presence, the barrier of entry was incredibly low. They most likely wouldn't ask for a social security number. It may not be needed, but it didn't hurt to have a fake resume handy. Moreover, it was an entire 6-hour shift to poke around and fight what they needed to fight. If they played their cards right, they could be in and out in a single night. A resignation notice could be conjured without an issue, seeing as how the establishment was sketchy to begin with. It could be a record for the shortest job in their "career".

So who was going to sneak their way inside in plain sight? Well, one line of dialogue made that decision quite easy.

"Hey, you're the one who's always going about 'honest work'," Dean snorted from the table, tossing his cellphone for Sam to catch. "This is your chance to do some honest work. Now, go get 'em, Tiger!"

With one hand above the other, he secured the device in both hands like a clam and it's pearl. It wasn't like he didn't want to do it, but Dean wasn't exactly the most qualified either (GEDs and criminal records only get you so far). Sam clicked to the tab with the contact information and dialed in the number. With a final swipe to tuck some brown hair behind the right lobe, he brought the clamshell to his ear.

A ring sounded through the speaker once. Twice. Then a click and a voice. "Uh, hello?"

"Uh, hi." Sam cleared his throat. "My name is Andy Hendrix. Is this that Freddy's pizza joint?"

"Well, yes," came the reply. It must have been a man of the other end of the line. The younger brother couldn't discern an exact age, but he still picked up on the twinge of offense. "This is Freddy Fazbear's Pizza- The magical place for kids and grown-ups alike, where fantasy and fun come to life. What can I do for you today, Mr. Hendrix?"

Dean looked up and watched from the papers sprawled about the desk. He must have been curious. Sam continued with the call. "Well, I saw this flyer. It said you were looking for a night guard?" He flicked through the tabs on the laptop for his fake resume. "I was hoping to speak with a manager of some kind to apply for the position."

"Oh, really?" The man chuckled. "Well, you're definitely talking to the guy you need to talk to. The name's Dave Miller. I'm head guard at Freddy Fazbear's and your ticket to the position. All I would need would be a name, phone number and your availability for the next week."

"You don't need a resume?"

"Oh, you have a resume!"

Sam wrinkled his nose at the expression. This Miller character. . . seemed quite eager to hire a night guard. That was normal, given the circumstances. But at the same time, he was far too even tempered.

"Well, how about this." Dave cleared his throat. "You, uh, how about you come in tomorrow and bring it with you. We can check your qualifications, see if we can get you a uniform and get you started on your first week. Stop at around 2 pm. There won't be so many kids running around and I can show you around without any problems."

"Um, alright." A hard knot formed in Sam's stomach. That was definitely way too easy. But he had an act to keep up and forced some joy in his voice. "You don't want me tonight? I can-"

"Absolutely not."

Sam startled. That was quick. "Wh-"

"Ah, sorry." A sheepish sigh came out of the speaker. "I, uh, don't mean to be rude. It's just, uh. . . closing time. It's not a good time."

". . . Well, if you say so. 2 is fine. Thanks again."

"No problem. Just walk on in and ask for me."

"Ok, thank you. Have a good-"

"One more thing, though."

Sam stopped.

"There, uh. . ." Miller dropped the volume of his voice. "There's going to be some. . . animatronic characters on the floor and they won't have any kids to keep them distracted. So if you happen to pass by any. . . Ah, never-mind. I'll just tell you when you get here. Won't be too difficult to explain if you're smart enough to bring a resume." He was back to being as jovial as ever. "Just stick by me and I'll walk you through it. Have a good night and I'll talk to you tomorrow."

The phone call came to a close with a soft click and a busy tone. Sam pulled the phone away and pressed the red button. The clamshell shut with a soft clap. ". . . Huh."

"Sounds like you got the job." Dean finally stood up from the mess of papers. "So what's with the look?"

"No, I got the job. It sounded like a shoe-in."

"Great. You didn't tell me what the problem was."

"Well, he sounded suspicious."

"Hey, that's good. Suspicious is good." Dean shrugged off his jacket and went to pop off his boots. "Suspicious means we have a job and a job means we have something to gank." He threw the covers back and the bed creaked beneath his weight. "Get some sleep, Sammy. You're going to need it if you're on the night shift."

". . . Yeah." Sam cleaned up his materials and followed suit. "And just when I was getting back to a normal sleep schedule."

"Less bitching. More sleeping." The elder flopped on the mattress, arms folded behind his head. "Big day tomorrow. You should know."

"And could you quit calling me 'Sammy'? I already told you-"

A long, obnoxious snore sounded from the firmer bed. "Sammy" gave up. He shuffled the laptop and every paper in a neat stack to slide in his bag. The shoes and jacket came off. He turned beneath the covers a few times to fight the discomfort of his day clothes. But sleep got to him anyways. Maybe it was the hum of the A/C unit or the balmy warmth of the comforter. The street lamp gave a soft, flickering glow outside. Silhouettes of the window frames would ghost across the opposite wall as a car sped by that cracked road. The gravel outside gave a throaty crunch. Muted chatter filtered in from the lower level. Dean shifted to lay on his side and let an arm hang over the edge of the bed. And every sound and sight blurred and faded together, leaving not even the peace or quiet to be aware of.

SPN x FNAF

Rip-off Chuck E. Cheese's was right. Painfully so.

Morale wasn't at it's best. The morning had been spent at a local college library, printing the fake resume and digging deeper into what had happened. Newspaper articles usually turned up more than a few keystrokes could, but the name "Freddy's" was nowhere to be found in the archives. Even a chat with the local police didn't result in much. All they said was that there was some allegation of kidnapping or murder and an investigation that never turned up any evidence. The community either didn't know much or were keeping mum about it. But that was before. This was now, with inside people who might actually know for sure. Sam stepped out of the Impala and looked up the new potential place of work. A red and white checkered stripe stretched all around the concrete building. Red awnings spread over large tinted windows. An arch at the very top of the establishment helped to hold up a sign branding the place as "Freddy Fazbear's Pizza". Maybe the only distinguishing factor was the characters. Instead of a mouse, the line up of kid-friendly creatures consisted of a bear with a microphone, a blue bunny, and a chicken (or a duck?) wearing a bib reading "Let's eat".

This was the supposed place where the victims had gone missing, counting to more than ten or fifteen disappearances. And those animals up above just smiled like there was nothing to be afraid of. Granted it was only a sign, but it wouldn't really help anyone's piece of mind.

Sam stood before the door in a pair of jeans and a white polo with his usual pair of shoes. The trip to the local thrift store was most definitely a change of pace from the usual tux rental, but Dean was certainly happy that his "hard-earned money" would last a little longer. Speaking of which, the older brother was sitting in the car and would only be content to head-bang to Metallica by his lonesome for so long. Sam gripped the resume, took a deep breath, and ventured inside briskly.

True to form, hardly any kids could be found within these party decorated walls, aside from one or two pairs of child and parent. A few employees scrubbed floors and wiped down tables here and there. Three physical forms of the three characters on the sign stood on a sort of stage at the front of the main floor, stiffly dancing and singing a song that Sam didn't care to listen to. There were a number of drawings on the walls, most likely colored by the kids. It was a nice touch, like the facility was meant for more than profit. A heap of parts lay off in a room to the far left. The young man took a double take. No, that was not just a heap of parts. There was very clearly some semblance of a metal skeleton and plastic appendages attached together. It looked to be some strange white fox. The presents around him didn't exactly make him look any more friendly. Something slammed to Sam's right. He whipped around to look. A tall willowy figure, hanging by thin fishing wire, glided back and forth from a wall of stuffed animals and plastic toys, filling in the blank spaces with more product. A box sat on a glass counter, soon pried open. Long black fingers dug around in the container and began to organize red and yellow tickets into neat stacks.

The figure stopped counting. It looked up, grinning-

 _Nope._ Sam turned away and made his way towards one of the custodian. _Nope. Nope. Nope._ He did not like the look of those red cheeks or purple stripes one bit. He liked the white face and haunting smile even less. Most definitely, his best bet was to hurry up and find Mr. Miller. The sooner he could leave, the better. Sam spotted a woman with thin brown hair and some pudge in her freckled cheeks. She busied herself with plastic ware and party hats. "Um, excuse me?" He waved down the woman and trotted forward. "Hi, I'm looking for-"

The woman squeaked and scuffled away before Sam could finish. He blinked. If even the day workers were antsy, then maybe they town was keeping hush about it.

"Hello, hello? Young man, are you looking for someone?"

The voice came from the end of a hallway, past a pair of restrooms. A man turned the corner and walked in for a greeting. The closer he got, Sam quickly realized that there were in fact other as tall, maybe taller, than he was. The man appeared to have an inch on his, but at the same time a hefty share of weight. He wore his uniform with a snug fit and pulled his hair back.

"Oh, yes. I am." Finally, someone who could help. Sam straightened his posture and cracked his knuckles. Time to act at least a little professional. "I'm looking for Mr. Miller. I called him last night and-."

"Ha!" The man laughed. "I figured you sounded familiar." A meaty hand shot out and took Sam's for a hearty shake. "Good to finally meet you, Mr. Hendrix."

"You as well, sir."

"You got the resume?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, let's have a look see."

A moment of silence passed between them as the paper was analyzed. Sam had a chance to inspect finer details himself. Dissonance had been struck between Dave's voice and appearance. The margin between the two must have spanned at least ten years. Miller looked much older. Sam first noticed the bags under Dave's eyes. Then the blemishes and sores that arched parallel with his hairline. He could have had a bad habit of picking. A pallor painted his skin thin and white. A pungent body odor rolled off his lax posture. Despite it being two in the afternoon, Mr. Miller looked to be exhausted and in much need of sleep. Sam had his restless nights. Dreams of burning and blame tend to do that to a man. Maybe this individual functioned with a similar situation. Granted it was his job that called for it and not his conscience, but it explained why he was so eager to hire again.

"Ah, impressive." Dave nodded to himself, intrigued. "Fry cook at Candy's Burgers and Fries, custodian at Doug and Rachel's. . . Looks like you got quite a bit of experience. I'm still impressed that you brought a resume at all."

"Well, yeah." Sam shrugged. "I was taking pre-law courses and was trying to find something that would get me by. I guess I'm more of a jack of all trades." Hey, it wasn't all true, but that's how the best lies begin, right?

"Hey, now. Nothing wrong with knowing a bit of everything." Mr. Miller folded the paper and tucked it away in his back pocket. "Makes you more useful, but we really need you for the night shift. Speaking of which, can you start tonight?"

"I'm sorry, tonight?"

"Yeah, we-"

"Hello."

That was not Mr. Miller. Someone else had joined them, maybe a child. A quick look down said otherwise. Below the two men stood a figure who must have recently crawled out of the depths of the uncanny valley. A small boy with a balloon in one hand and a sign advertising as such in the other stood below. He looked up with big blue eyes and a toothy grin, wearing a red and blue striped shirt and propellor beanie. A long creak winded from his neck. He turned his head to Sam. "Hi," the voice chimed again. Then the rest of the rounded body rotated with him as he offered up his large red and yellow balloon-

"Ah, darn thing! Just ignore him. Don't look him in the eye." The older man stepped in, turned the animatronic around and urged him away. "Someone tampered with their software some time ago. Still not right, it seems. Go on, get! Shoo!"

"Did they," came Sam's distant reply. He watched the small animatronic boy look around the party room before waddling away. "What software gets messed up so that I can't even look at them."

"It's facial recognition. They were built into the animatronics some time ago to spot criminals." Miller walked away. Sam followed down the hall, past an extra game room, and even another room with scrapped animatronics. The askew eyes weren't appealing to stick around. Neither was the smell. Sam wrinkled his nose and continued until the two had found their way furthest from the front of the restaurant to two doors next to each other.. "Wait here for a bit." He opened up the right door and called out inside (something about getting the goddamn technician back). Someone bickered back. Another bout of yelling. Dave slammed the door shut again and someone behind it complained in Spanish.

"If you're going to be working here," Stated Miller, "you can't look any of them in the eye. Consider that right there your free-bee."

"O-Oh. I'm sorry-"

"Uh, it's fine. Just remember for future reference. For your sake."

"Um. . . got it. So you said you needed me tonight?"

"Uh, yeah. Midnight tonight." From the looks of it, this new room was meant for costumes. Empty heads and thin endoskeletons sat atop tables and shelves. Miller walked to the back and threw open a closet, filled with pieces of purple uniforms. "I know it's short notice, but I can get you a check on Friday. If you're worried about training, don't be. The big thing you'll be doing is watching the cameras, making sure no one gets in or out. I left recordings on the phone in the office explaining the details. Play one every night for five nights." He took out a button up shirt held it up, and passed it to Sam. "Here, see if that fits."

Sam accepted. "Um, thanks." The shirt was a bit wide for his more fitted build, but he couldn't be picky. Or rather, shouldn't. Rudeness doesn't get you hired, after all.

The head guard then squatted to thumb through the drawers at the bottom of the cabinet. "You start at $5.15 an hour. If you do good, we'll see about bumping it up to $5.40. If you want overtime, just give a call ahead of time." He stood again holding up a pair of trousers. "I'd say the night before should be fine." The clothing flew Sam's way, stopped by a well timed catch. "The bathroom's down the hall. You can change there."

"So. . . I'm hired?"

"I'd say you're hired! Any questions?"

Yes, there were questions. But not questions that had anything to do with the position itself or that would be acceptable to ask. What happened to the kids and night guards? What would change its pattern like that? The only way to find answers was to put himself out there, to watch the culprit when it was most active. He could probably smuggle in at least a silver knife or some salt. Sadly, he was going to have to go it alone. If Dean showed up (criminal record in tow), the machines might not take it well and any chance of getting to the bottom of this would be out the window. As a potential employee, Sam politely declined and tested the uniform. He later penciled in his availability and promised to return for the night shift.

As he left he could feel eyes bore into his back but wisely refrained from turning around to check.

SPN x FNAF

Dark. Exposed. Claustrophobic. "I really am not going to like this, huh. . ."

At six feet long and eight feet wide, the office sat humbly at the deepest, innermost corner of the building, lit only by an overhead lamp from the ceiling. A cathode ray television sat by one part of the entrance while typed memos scaled the other side. Sam did his best to ignore the lack of lockable doors and looked around. To his left hung a celebratory poster and loose cables. To the right, more coloring pictures. Some with the black masked figure and others with a gold bear, looking out with black eyes. An old iron fan chopped the air from it's spot on a worn and chipped desk, dressed in loose papers and a computer. Two vents sat on either side with switches above. At the back of the room a mini fridge sat in the back corner up against a wall colored with painted drywall: A material different from the grey steel that built the rest of the room. Sam adjusted the strap on his bag and took a seat in the spinning chair. A digital clock on the desk told the hunter, in bright red numbers, that his shift was to start in a few minutes. Near that, a phone. Mr. Miller said he would leave recordings for him. The machine had five. Sam pushed a button at the bottom of the dial pad and the first message began to play.

 _Ring~_

 _Ring~_

 _Ca-click._

" _Uh, Hello? Hello, hello?"_

"Hello," Sam joked.

" _Uh, hello and welcome to your new summer job at the new (and improved) Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. Uh, I'm here to talk you through some of the things you can expect to see during your first week here and to help you get started down this new and exciting career path."_

Now that was just painful to hear. If bringing in a resume was "impressive", how were employees expected to stick around long enough to climb the corporate ladder?

" _Uh, now I want you to forget anything you may have heard about the old location, you know."_

Sam tilted his head. Old location? The internet searches never turned up any "old locations". He leaned forward and made a mental note. The monitor had been left up to show the stage show. Three characters stood motionless, as if in sleep or in wait.

" _Uh, some people still have a somewhat negative impression of the company. Uh. . . That old restaurant was kind of left to rot for quite a while, but I want to reassure you: Fazbear entertainment is committed to family fun and, above all, safety."_

Somehow he didn't think that statement was one-hundred percent true.

" _They spent a small fortune on these new animatronics. Uh, facial recognition, advanced mobility- they even let them walk around during the day. Isn't that neat?"_ Someone cleared their throat and the recording continued. _"But most importantly, they're all tied into some kind of criminal database, so they can detect a predator a mile away. Heck, we should be paying them to guard you!"_

A mental image of the boy with the balloon came back with it's eerie gaze. That was exactly what Dave said earlier that day. The thought hadn't occurred to Sam until then, but the measure was probably taken because the threat of a prior event called for such. He cringed.

" _Uh, now that being said, no new system is without it. . . kinks."_

Sam froze, staring at the machine.

" _Uh, you're only the second guard to work at that location. Uh, the first guy finished his week but complained about . . . conditions. Uh, we switched him over to day shift, so hey. Lucky you, right?"_

The young man scoffed nervously.

" _Uh, mainly he expressed concern that certain characters seemed to move around at night and even attempted to get into his office. Now, from what we know, that should be impossible. Uh, that restaurant should be the safest place on earth. So while our engineers don't really have an explanation for this, the working theory is that. . . the robots were never given a proper 'night mode'. So when it get's quiet, they think they're in the wrong room. So then they go try to find where the people are and, in this case, that's your office._

" _So our temporary solution is this: There's a music box over by the prize counter and it's rigged to be wound up remotely. So, just, every once in a while, switch over to the Prize Counter video feed and wind it up for a few seconds. It doesn't seem to affect all of the animatronics but it does affect. . . one of them."_

Sam's eyes bugged out. One of them? He flipped through the cameras until he spotted a small white disk in the bottom of one. Soft music leisurely tinkered along. The man in the recording cleared his throat again and continued.

" _Uh, and as for the rest of them, we have an even easier solution. You see, there may be a minor glitch in the system, something about robots seeing you as an endoskeleton without his costume on, and wanting to stuff you in a suit, so hey. We've given you an empty Freddy Fazbear head. Problem solved!"_

The head in question sat innocently on the ground next to Sam's seat. At least this one didn't smell.

" _You can put it on anytime and leave it on for as long as you want. Eventually anything that wandered in will wander back out."_

He tested the head, but no more than a few seconds. Immediately his breath stuck hot and wet to his forehead. The so-called "fit" made it hard to turn his head. The eye sockets were too small to see much out of. Sam was glad to get it off. There was no way this was made for a human.

" _Uh, something else worth mentioning is kind of the quirky, modern design of the building. You may have noticed that there are no doors for you to close, heh. But hey- you have a light. And even though your flashlight can run out of power, the building cannot. So don't worry about the place going dark."_

A switch sat off to the left of the monitor. He flicked the light on and off as a test. A battery meter glowed on the side of the device in four equal units. The switches above the vent must have served a similar function. So this was meant to ward away those animatronics? Yeah, Sam was glad he brought the salt.

" _Well, I think that's it. Uh, you should be golden. Uh, check the lights; put on the Freddy head when you need to; Uh, keep the music box wound up. Piece of cake. Have a good night and I'll talk to you tomorrow."_

And the recording came to an end. Sam set the head back on the ground and leaned back in the chair. Moving animatronics, huh? Well, maybe that was possible. He cracked his knuckles and fidgeted. Six hours. _I guess I had better get comfort-_

The clock struck midnight. A high screech pierced the air- Dean's hand-made EMF device proclaimed the presence of something incorporeal and powerful. Sam's breath clouded white in front of his face. The hairs on his neck prickled, shivers and quivers rattled his very bones. He flailed to shut the device off, then threw open the security monitor. The music box in camera 11 was already beginning to unwind. In camera 9, a spot had been left empty on the show stage. A clamor sounded in the air vent to Sam's right, as though someone were crawling through. A blue bunny with green eyes stared back through camera 6. Sam swallowed a hard lump in his throat. He glanced at the clock: Just a little after midnight, just the beginning of his shift.

There was no way $5.15 an hour was enough for this shit.

SPN x FNAF

And there's the first part! Gonna get working on part two soon enough. Please review and let me know what you think. See you next time!

-Magician Irono


	2. Chapter 2

Yooo! How 'bout dat Sister Location, doe!

I'm sorry, I let my hype show a bit too much. I didn't play it, but it was definitely an interesting break from the series. Do you guys think Afton is trying to recreate the work of the Puppet?

Alrighty, part 2. This one turned out to be a lot longer than I originally thought. At least we get to see things from Dean's side now. I can't let all the Sam girls have all the fun, after all. Enjoy!

Part 2

The window had been rolled down. A soothing breeze caressed his scalp. Some nameless flock twittered a song as sweet as a Sunday hymn. The seat had been reclined and Dean basked in sixty-five degrees of a Monday morning painted in glowing gold and rose red.

Oh he still was pissed, alright. Sam came back from the interview saying that Dean couldn't step anywhere inside the building, some bullshit reason about the robots being able to tell he was a criminal. His younger brother didn't want to take the risk, yet in the same motion waltzed into the pizzeria without really knowing what to expect. By _himself_. He had salt and he had iron, but refused to bring in anything more effective than a silver bowie knife. Dean fumed internally. Not getting to do his job was one thing. Failing to do his duty was another. And being prevented from doing his duty by the subject of such was basically a slap in the face that kept him up all night with worry and spite. He probably paced a canal into the floor and cleaned every gun in his arsenal at least once before finally deciding to come to the restaurant at around 4 in the morning and waiting in the parking lot.

Dean rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and checked the clock on the Impala's dashboard. At least Sam only had a few minutes of this shift left. The older brother craned his neck and popped his back before falling back into the car seat to linger between wakefulness and sleepy peace.

And the progress? Well, yea-uh. . . . sure. Yes, there was some, even if not a lot. The evening before the first shift had been spent visiting the families of the children who disappeared. Or rather, three families out of ten. It took some digging, but that was all that was left. The others had most likely moved away or done something else to get away from the town where they lost their children. Despite the fact that Sam (the more tactful of the two brothers) was with him, things still didn't pan over so well. It usually ended in angry tears or being kicked out. However, there were certain trends between what each family said. One: That they didn't deserve what happened. Two: That all it took was one look away to lose the precious lights of their lives so soon. Three: That they would have grown up to do great things and that not a day went by when they weren't missed.

Four: That someone most likely lured them to the back. It wasn't clear what animal it was supposed to be, but everyone agreed that they saw someone in a golden suit the same day as the disappearances.

Maybe this was not the work of a shifter. They would pose as other people and make sure the attention was directed exactly where they wanted it directed, at least as far as Dean knew. If nothing was caught on camera, they would be sure to leave something to trace back to the innocent original. So what else was there? Changelings? Hopefully not. Finding the originals would be a bitch and Dean wasn't eager to wait around for a third batch of children to be taken away. Lamia? Nah, those could only be found in Greece. Plus, they probably didn't have much a taste for adult night guards. Not quite as tender, y'know? Dean snickered at his own dark humor. He wasn't running on much sleep and couldn't think of much else. He cracked an eye open.

The clock blinked back a new time: 5:59. Now _that_ was enough to wake him up. Dean leaned forward, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the shift stick. He pulled a breath in, deep and slow. It was going to be ok, he told himself. Sam got back into the swing of things pretty quickly after Jessica died. He was going to walk out of that building just fine.

Dean watched, waited. The clock blinked to 6:00. He felt his stomach flop. Nothing moved in the parking lot, time stretching like eternity.

A man in a purple uniform exited the building. Dean released a sigh of relief. Sam was safe. He made it through the night and was-

Wait.

Running?

Sure enough, the younger sibling was hauling ass, leather bag in tow, straight for the car. That was not a good sign. A switch was flicked. The sound of locks grinding together throbbed once in the Impala's doors. Dean clicked his seatbelt into place. Sam threw himself against the vehicle and yanked the door open.

"Dean, drive." A slam rattled all over as he shut the door.

"Sam, what-"

"Drive!"

Well, someone wasn't fooling around. He threw the mechanism in drive and burned rubber out of the parking lot.

Finally rolling along the cracked road, Dean was finally able to get a decent look at his brother. He was about the ask what had happened, but the sight of his little brother killed the words before they left his throat. Shaking and pale, Sam looked back warily towards the direction of the pizzeria they left. His knuckles had gone white, his breathing erratic, a sheen of sweat glistened along his brow.

Sam fell back in his seat, giving his brother a sapped expression. He looked at though he had just come out of one of the nightmares he denied having. Dean gave a soft nod in regard and focused on the road.

Maybe questions could wait.

SPN x FNAF

Dean would never tell, not even if he was asked. If you caught him watching his brother sleep just to make sure the nightmares didn't toy with and torture him, Dean would most likely bring a knife to help sign the deal on keeping the secret. But didn't need to do that. They were back in the safety of the motel room, Sam laying in the fetal position atop the purple comforter and Dean seated once more at the table. They turned the A/C off and pulled the blinds closed. Apparently the stresses and all- nighters so characteristic of college didn't prep the younger one quite enough for this job. He crashed and he crashed hard. Not a single meaningful detail could be taken from his ramblings or fidgets. If anything good came from that it was that the usual nightmares wouldn't be getting to him and he hopefully had an idea as to what was going on.

That and Sam wasn't awake to give Dean a hard time about eating pie for breakfast.

. . .

. . . . .

. . . . . . . . .

Well, it wasn't like it was _completely_ illogical or unhealthy. He was hungry. It was almost noon and this was the first thing he got to eat. There was fruit and flour and butter- What's the difference between that and toast with jam? Hell, pie was probably better because it had more fruit than a dollop of jelly.

Dean sucked a cherry off the tip of his fork and chewed. Waiting for the bastard to wake up was getting a little dull. The guns were clean and Sam would only get angry if he tried to use his laptop. Maybe he could practice pickpocketing. It was his brother and he could put whatever back whenever he wanted to. If he woke up the good on him for being sharp. Without Dean around, he probably wouldn't be much more than a mess of fleshy ribbons and blood right about now.

Sam twitched in his sleep. He mumbled incoherently and fisted the corner of his pillow. Not much really changed in that respect. Sam wasn't quite the type to toss and turn, but he was always a fidgety sleeper, even as a little kid. One time he kicked an alarm clock over and rendered both the brothers late for class that morning. Dad wasn't happy. Sam might have cried afterwards.

He probably wouldn't be much more than a mess of fleshy ribbons and blood right about now.

Dean set the fork down and left his chair. Floor boards creaked as he knelt next to his sleeping brother to rifle through the pockets. Sam murmured, but didn't otherwise stir. The older brother did find his EMF reader and pocketed that on a whim. _Cellphone, cellphone- Aha!_ Dean gently pulled out the silver Nokia and immediately went to check the media. Maybe he had thought to take a picture or a video recording. Dean scrolled through. He didn't find any depictions of Jessica or any of Sam's old college friends. Maybe he finally changed his SIM card and was moving on, but that didn't change the fact that there was nothing. Much of the same appeared in the sound file. Sam snorted from the bed. That obviously didn't give a clue as to what had happened the prior night. None of it did.

So. . . nothing.

He let the phone fall on the bed and ran a hand through his short cut hair. This was bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit. Don't come because you could get caught but I won't tell you jack shit, right? The pissed pacing of last night resumed again. That was not ok. Sam could have gotten himself killed and Dean wouldn't have had a single clue as to what happened and how. Oh, but that's apparently hunky-dory because he had to make sure it was ok to go in. What was he thinking? What would Dad say? What-

Dean stopped himself. He stood still, took a deep breath and put on a smile. No, no- he shouldn't get mad. Sammy was only trying to do the right thing. He survived all by himself against who-knows-what and made it out in one piece. But he was exhausted. Dean should let him catch up on some well earned sleep. And to make up for the hard work, it would only do to pick up some investigating work himself.

A calloused hand checked the pockets for the car keys. The room door shut silently. An old engine roared to life while Sam continued to doze. Dean drove off to help further complete the job like a good, big brother.

SPN x FNAF

"Hello. Stan Anger, public health inspector. Mind if I come in and have a look around?"

A heavier set woman had opened the door for Dean but completely froze at the sight of him. And he wouldn't have complained if she were more of a looker. The uniform she wore didn't fit quite right and her thighs seemed a little too thick for the skirt she wore, as least for his taste. Even worse was the look of stunned horror in her features. The freckles would have been much cuter without such an expression. Moreover it was making him uncomfortable. He had gone through the trouble of getting dressed up for this. He was used to girls either buying into his looks or telling him off for whatever reason. The deer in the headlights look? Not a common one.

"Look," he tried again, adjusting the hat of the makeshift uniform. "I'm just here to make sure everything is in order. There are kids here, after all. We all want what's best for-"

"Thesuitsarefinetheydon'tevensmellanymoreyoudon'thavetocomeinokthankyouverymuchgoodbye!"

And door had been pulled shut and she scampered away, the shopping bag in her hands and her brown hair swinging side to side. Dean blinked. What she said. . . that was english, right? She came and went so fast you would think her more like a squirrel or a skittish cat than a human. If she was like that in public then maybe she shouldn't be working at a place like this. The young man knocked again and peered through the glass. Amongst the crowds of children, birthday banners, and singing animals, the woman was not to be found. A plastic looking boy walked around handing balloons to children. A chicken, a bear, and a blue bunny spun off the stage to perform up close and personal with the children, some of which began to cry and needed to be taken away by their parents for a moment. At was the afternoon in the summer. Maybe it wasn't a far stretch to think it would be busy. The crowds parted, if only a little. A man and the skittish woman were walking towards the door. Dean stepped back as the door was pushed open.

"I apologise for her behavior," the gentleman huffed wearily. "She's just not that social. Just ignore her. Please, come in and follow me."

 _Alright,_ Dean thought uncomfortably. _Weird._ He accepted with a humble "Thanks" and proceeded inside.

The man began to lead him through the building. Children ran this way and that. Some laughed, some cried. Dean didn't really want much to do with any of them. Same went for the robotic characters around, especially the mangled white fox in one of the rooms. Such a sight was only painful to look at and got worse the longer he looked. Some parts were forced into places that shouldn't even be possible to fit in. If that ever happened to his beloved Impala, there would be Cain to raise. So he followed behind and did his best to ignore the chaos around him. Up on high walls, hung a series of security cameras. Not subtle black bulbs ringed in white. These looked like straight up movie cameras Sony or Canon would have made before they knew better. He counted three on the main floor, one in the hallway, and one more in the room where they stopped. The man stopped and turned to Dean, rubbing and eye and yawning. "You can start here and work your way to the back," he said. "Just head on out whenever you're done and bill me however you do." He turned and-

"Wait, you're just going to leave me here?"

The man scoffed. His entire posture sagged with some imperceivable weight. A pallor painted his skin so deep he looked sick. This heavy-set build didn't exactly make him look any better. "Do you guys ever look at anything different? We keep telling you that there's nothing wrong- The animatronics don't smell anymore. But if you guys aren't satisfied, I can't really turn you away. You're just doing your jobs, I get that. So just poke around wherever and report back to me when you finish up. Ok? Ok."

And with that, he walked away wearily.

"Well. . . that was unexpected." Dean scratched the back of his head. _Someone_ needed a vacation. Dean paid no mind and turned to the subjects of his inspection.

A sign on the door said that this was supposed to be the spare parts room. Four mechanical bodies lay about the checkered floor: One bear, one chicken, one bunny, and one fox. Didn't _that_ look familiar. Or, rather, not completely. The bear probably held the title for the best condition of the four, but even that wasn't saying much. The skin tore in some places on the limbs and the face didn't look quite right, eyes having gone crooked and jaw hanging loose. Wires spilled out of the wrists on the chicken and the mouth had been stretched too far like it was caught in the middle of a horrified scream. Dean could see the metal skull underneath. Jagged frame work poked out of the red fox like broken bones. Even the hook and eyepatch were old and rusted. The purple bunny had been left slumped against the wall not only missing an arm, but also it's face. Looking in was like looking into a black hole or the lair of something carnal and vicious.

Dean looked each one up and down. "How's it going, fuglies?"

None of them responded. He shrugged.

Now how about that problem with the "smelly" animatronics? Like sulfer-smelly or ectoplasm-smelly? Dean squatted and stooped down to the worn brown fur of a suit presumed to be Freddy's older brother. He took a whiff. He didn't pick up anything indicative of a demon or a ghost. But the smell still wasn't pleasant. Dean wrinkled his nose and let out a strained "ugh", likening the stench to rotten meat. Upon further inspection, stains had been found, little black specks that clustered around the eye and mouth sockets. Maybe it was pieces of pepperoni or pizza sauce. Now for the walkman test. Dean took out his handy tool and held it up to each. He found nothing and pouted. "I guess we can rule that out," he mused. No readings meant no ghosts. He stood to leave, but caught the expressions of the robots once more.

The man stood a moment, looking between the faces. He paused. They weren't. . . _looking_ at him, were they?

No, that couldn't be. They were just suits. Old suits with oblique facial features that were probably beyond saving. The EMF reader did not register even a peep. He made this machine flawlessly and if it didn't pick up anything, then there wasn't anything there. Maybe it was best for Sam to come at night after all. Dean would just have to be there to get him to haul ass. "College-boy needs to get back in shape," he murmured. With a creak in the floor, he snuck off to see what else there was.

And there was actually quite a bit. Four party rooms, each with one camera, posed a bigger threat that the man had first hoped for. He even found his way into the security guard's office and all it's messy, vintage glory. Perhaps that was the only room without a camera. "Figures," he sighed, defeated. From the looks of it, there wasn't really a way to sneak in without being seen. And if he couldn't sneak in then Sammy wouldn't be alone again-

Wait, the bathrooms. If he couldn't sneak in, then maybe he could hide until the time came. He trotted back, past the party rooms, spare parts and into the hallway. He checked both the men's and women's rooms (Hey, he was with sanitation- he can't discriminate when it came to the health of the children.) and found none of those bulky security cameras. Moreover, there were air vents up high on wall, but not small or out of climbing range. Perfect. And he would have Sam watching to make sure the thing didn't get him. Whatever it was. . .

The check out was a quiet exchange. The man still seemed as weary as ever and bid him on his way. He even seemed surprised that Dean found nothing wrong. Mrs. Skittish wasn't with him anymore, but with a group of children. She seemed so happy and comfortable with them Dean wasn't even sure it was the same woman as before. Then again, none of the other female employees on the floor really had thighs as thick as her's. The younger man waved the older man adieu, then turned to leave-

Oh?

Dean perked up as the sound of soft music enticed his ears from an unknown place. It wasn't special, really, just a simply music box tune with a soft clicking to keep time. It wasn't any more complex than a chord of any kind. But that didn't mean to say it wasn't familiar.

 _Ninety years without slumbering, tick-tock, tick-tock~._

When Dean was a boy he would get a weekend with Uncle Bobby for every hunt his dad went on up until his "training" was complete. It wasn't always all guns and war tactics, though. With Bobby, it could be anything. Catch, an evening around the dusty turntable, a round of cards, or a ghost story or two that didn't need to be picked at or analyzed. It was another time, maybe even another world. They could be boys and have a taste of what "childhood" was supposed to be.

 _His life's second numbering, tick-tock, tick-tock~._

Little Sammy would always fall asleep to music like this, so he probably wouldn't remember. Not Dean. Holding his brother's head in his lap and stroking his hair to keep him asleep, he would listen to the strange fables his Uncle told. The fire would crackle and hiss. Shadows of musty books and knick knacks would dance upon the walls. Maybe a cup of hot cocoa would have been savored. The brand was always different. Bobby would talk animatedly about things that never were as though they were fond memories. They were fanciful fibs about dead boys shooting each other with swords, ghost wives asking bitter husbands to "spend the night with them", and old men who would waste their lives away over winding a worn grandfather clock. There was always some strange light in Bobby's eyes when he told those stories, both happy and so, so sad. Dean never brought himself to ask why.

 _And it stopped- Short-_

He turned towards the source of the music. A sprinkling of children took their spots around a glass prize counter and stretched to wrap around a large white present box, complete with a springy, red bow. The walls held toys of all kinds, from plastic figurines to soft plushies, on high and almost regal shelves all the way up to the ceiling.

 _Never to go again when the old. Man. Died~._

From the box a strange figure hung over the edge and entertained children. It glided in the air up the the shelves and brought down some of the toys for the little ones. Strings caught slivers of sunshine from a nearby window. Was this figure a puppet of some sort? Dean decided that maybe it was. The puppet extended long striped limbs to exchange tickets for prizes. Giggles bubbles with polite thank-yous from young voices. The puppet seemed to laugh back, jiggling the three white buttons on it's chest, all the while smiling with a big grin of it's white face. Well, not entirely white; The red makeup and purple stripes were a nice splash of color. All that was needed was a big red nose and it would look just like a-

Wait.

Was. . . _this_ what scared the hell out of Sam last night?

Dean smirked. He snickered into his hand as he turned to the side. So he really did still have the clown problem! Dean could practically picture his brother hiding somewhere, maybe under a table or something, while this character gave out prizes as it was now. Oh, the _humanity_! He really shouldn't be laughing, but still. . .

When Dean finally calmed down, he noticed movement in the corner of his eye. The children had gone from prize corner. All that was left was the puppet. It cocked its head as if to inspect Dean from a distance. With the long fingers, it seemed to beckon him towards its direction. Dean looked left. Then right. No one else stood so close around. He pointed to himself and mouthed an inquiring "me". The puppet nodded and continued to urge him to come closer.

 _. . . Eh, why not?_ He would technically be learning more about the place anyways by interacting with these things one on one. None of the other animatronics gave him any problems yet. Why not start on this one? At least that's what he told himself. There was no denying that a nostalgic hunger suddenly raised its begging hands at the sound of such sweet music. Dean walked forward to meet this character.

And if nothing else, this character appeared to be a polite and jovial one. The puppet inspected Dean's features a bit more, tilting it's head side to side and even moving in time with the music, before waving hello. It even shook Dean's hand and tipped an imaginary hat, referencing the cap of his make-shift uniform. Was this a machine like the others? The A.I. on this thing was simply amazing if it was. The man couldn't help but return the gesture with a smile. He more or less lost himself in the meeting, even forgetting why he was there for a bit. He was a kid again. Maybe this place wasn't so bad. It certainly lived up to it's slogan. The character reached up and took a string from off the cross it hung from. Three black fingers presented before Dean.

Oh, so. . . "Three guesses," he asked.

The puppet nodded. It tied the ends of the string together and stretched the loop out over it's fingers. It all tangled together, weaving and pulling. The floppy movements of such noodly arms was more than amusing to watch. Long fingers held up the final product- a simple criss-cross of the string.

Oh, so it could play string games? Dean had seen Bobby try and fail a few times, though he was never fully engaged. He was more concerned with the record collection in his youth. This was still an impressive feat. "Cat's cradle." The answer came out of the man's mouth before he could stop it.

The puppet nodded. Yes, correct. It unwound the string and started to weave again. The next image stretched vertically, forming more triangular shapes. One hand pinched the top while the other hand spread the bottom between a thumb and finger.

"The eiffel tower."

Another nod. Correct again. More unwinding, more weaving. Another image stretched horizontally, but it was much more complex this time. The string crossed over in so many areas that some of the shapes looked to be rounded. Two at the bottom, three more square-like shapes. Even smaller squares were to be found in the top. Dean squinted and paused to think. The first thought that came to mind he couldn't believe. He had to check out the window to confirm that is was what he thought he was. An impressed grin broke out. "Is that my car?"

The character nodded again and clapped joyfully. He got all three guesses right. Dean was more impressed that something like this managed to make such complex shapes. But before he could scrutinize any further the puppet tossed the string over it's shoulder and made a rolling motion up its own arms. Perhaps it was saying "Nothing up my sleeves" or something to that effect. Then it stopped for a moment, craning its neck to look over to Dean's right side. The puppet carefully reached over behind the man's ear and plucked something out. It seemed to be nothing. But with a flick of the wrist, a long and colorful strip of paper had been produced, complete with a small showering of confetti. Elegant cursive had been scribed in shimmering gold. _Gift voucher: Redeemable for one surprise gift at the Freddy Fazbear's prize counter._ Before Dean could read the fine print, the character had disappeared into the box and pulled the lid over, knocking the whole thing side to side from within. Then stillness.

New music played: "Pop! Goes the weasel", if the man wasn't mistaken. Nothing happened. Then the lid rose only a hair. Dean leaned down to look. Two tiny, white lights seemed to glow back-

And the puppet sprung out with the final notes. In its hands lay a large yellow folder wrapped in green ribbon. On its face a big, proud smile had been plastered. Dean shook his head. This A.I. really was impressive. "Uh, thank you." He humbly accepted the gift. "Hey, I have to get going, but I had a good time. Thanks again."

The character waved, but just as the man turned to leave it tapped him on the shoulder. It pointed down. A cartoonish wind up key sat attached near the bottom of the box. He didn't notice until then that the music had stopped. Dean got the picture pretty quickly. "Oh, yeah sure." He gave the key a good few strong cranks and the music played once more. "There ya go."

The puppet gave a bow as a gratuitous thanks. He waved goodbye one more time, as did Dean, and he left the restaurant. Back in the driver's seat of his Baby, he took a closer look at the gift. Emerald green ribbon shimmered in the afternoon light, wrapping around the lower left and top right corners of the envelope. Up on the top corner a pom-pom bow sat stiff. A metal clasp held the fold down through a small hole. Dean pressed his fingers along the edges. From the feel of things, there were only a few sheets of paper inside. He slid the bow off and opened the envelope.

Dean felt the color drain from his face at the sight.

Four hand drawn pictures had been given to Dean. The first depicted a man at a desk with a look of worry and face drawn in green and black crayon. The hair was drawn too long to not be Sam's. The puppet sat in a box in the corner of the page with a mischievous grin. The second picture shown Sam with his head bent completely horizontally with green Xs for eyes. Black hands held each side of the face. The third made Dean sick to his stomach as Sam's dead body was being stuffed in what looked to be a yellow bunny suit. The puppet character seemed all to happy to do the deed, even looking directly at Dean through the picture. Then came the fourth picture: A yellow bunny serving cake to happy children. Innocent enough if it weren't for the message on the page.

 _Save him? You can't._

Rage boiled. Dean clutched the paper. "W-. . . What the hell is this?!"

Green eyes glanced towards the pizzeria. The Puppet looked out the window after Dean. It still smiled. It still waved.

A sharp ring cut through the silence in the Impala. Dean fumbled for his phone and answered with a discombobulated "hello".

"Where the hell are you?!"

Oh, Sam. Yup, he sounded pissed. "I'm in the car, don-"

"You went to the pizzeria, didn't you? Dammit, I told you not to go there!"

Dean huffed. Yup, pissed was right. "Sam, it's fine. I walked in, nothing happened. Nothing and no one came after me." He stuffed the papers back in the folder and hid it under the car seat. "I got a better look at the camera blind spots, too. I think there is a way for me to hide and help you out."

"I'm not going to smuggle you in."

"I'm not asking you to. I'm asking to hide until it's time to gank the son of a bitch. You ain't doing this alone if I have anything to say about it." If he did let his little brother go about this alone any more, Dean didn't want the product of those pictures to come to fruition. "Just let me help, ok?"

Silence. Sam gave a weary breath. "Fine, whatever. Just get back here. Besides, I think I know what we're hunting."

SPN x FNAF

"You're joking, right?"

"No, I'm not. This is most likely what we're going after."

"This isn't a monster, Sam. This is a figgin' fairy tale. A-A lie to get kids to behave. There is no way this is what we're going after."

"Alright. What do you think, then?"

"Lamia."

"Only in Greece."

"Ubume."

"All the kids came from different families. Plus I didn't see any sweets other that that cupcake and it has eyes. Not even the kids who eat glue would touch that."

"Bloody Mary."

". . . You're kidding, right?"

"Well, something other than the Bogeyman!"

"Yes, it might be, actually."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"We might be looking specifically at the Sacman from Latin lore. That one has actually been known to stuff bad kids and take them away, either to eat or just to kill. If we're talking about the most likely candidate, I'm thinking the rabbit or the bear-"

"Why?"

"The Bogeyman isn't entirely fake. A lot of European cultures think it to be like a goblin. And if you go down the line enough, you get the Bugbear and Pooka, creatures that take the form of a bear and a rabbit respectively."

"I can't believe this-"

"It's the strongest lead we have, Dean. Stuffing people in the suits, going after children, the disappearances: Maybe it's not that far of a stretch to think it would go after someone intruding on their hunting grounds."

"Night guards."

"Night guards."

". . ."

". . ."

". . . Alright then, smart ass. How the hell do we kill it?"

"Well, like I said, it's a goblin. Maybe it likes the things other goblins like. Gold, jewelry- I wouldn't be surprised it we could bait it with sweets, either. Lore says that they tend to be greedy tricksters. We can catch it when it's most active and hit it with everything we got."

"Alright. Fine. Let's go get some bait."

"We already have bait."

"Huh? Where? What are you talking about-"

". . ."

"Oh, hell no!"

SPN x FNAF

Dean felt like some craven kid, standing on top of a toilet seat in the bathroom of a pizzeria chain. He felt like a ridiculous, craven kid, standing on top of a toilet seat in the bathroom of a pizzeria chain while wearing a stuffy yellow chicken head. He felt like a hangry, ridiculous, craven kid, standing on top of a toilet seat in the bathroom of a pizzeria chain while wearing a stuffy yellow chicken head and carrying the last of his beloved cherry pie to use as the bait.

But this was the only way Sam agreed to allow Dean to accompany him on his shift. And if he had to hold this position for at least two hours and give up the last of the treat he bought, then so be it. Not like the puppy face made things easy.

Or that message.

 _Save him? You can't._

It didn't take a genius to figure it out. That _thing_ wanted his brother dead and probably didn't care what the cost was. And it must have been so sure of it's own victory that it decided to more or less give him the middle finger. How it knew they were brothers, or connected in _any_ fashion, Dean had no clue. But it was still somehow possible. Bottom line, _that_ was their target, not the bunny or the bear.

Dean stepped out of the stall and checked the hallway. The light of the hallway camera flickered. The man counted the flashes, listened as the light flicked on and off.

Click. Click-click. Click-click-click. Click-click-click-click-click. Click-click. Click.

There it was: the signal to go. It was clear, but Dean would have to hurry and stay quiet. He rushed back to the stall, stuffed his head in the yellow chicken mask, and crawled up the the vent. The man almost forgot to shut off the EMF reader in his possession and took care of that with his rear still hanging out of the entrance. He pushed the pie up first and shimmied down the narrow way. It would be easier if he didn't need to wear the chicken head. The metal creaked beneath his paws and steps. It was completely dark. He had to more or less crawls and feel blindly about the walls. If he remembered correctly, there were two party rooms worth of space between the bathroom and the office. He kept on his way, coughing on dust every now and again and unable to shake the feeling that he was being followed.

But then came the silver lining in the dark clouds. Or rather, the song of hope after the hardship that told him he was close.

 _Ring~_

 _Ring~_

 _Ring~_

 _Ca-click_

" _Uh, Hello? Hello? Uh, See? I told you your first night wouldn't be a problem- You're a natural!"_

Sam had told Dean that he would be listening in on phone calls because they contained information about how to survive the night. With five robots animals crawling up his ass, Dean was glad for them. And judging by the sound, he was rather close to the office. He pushed the pie forward until he spotted a row of lighted lines. _That must be it_ , Dean thought hopefully. He pushed forward.

" _Uh, by now I'm sure you've noticed the older models sitting in the back room. Uh, those are from the previous location. We just use them for parts now."_

Sure enough, it was a grate. Light filtered in faintly. Dean couldn't see much, given the mask, but what he could see was enough. Sam sat at a desk with a computer and an empty bear head next to his seat. He busied himself with the camera, one hand on the mouse and the other reaching for a canned beverage from a familiar looking shopping bag on the wooden top.

" _The idea at first was to repair them. . . Uh, they even started retrofitting them with some of the newer technology, but they were just so ugly, you know? And the smell. . ."_

All of a sudden, Sam flailed to put what looked to be a brown bear head on. The lights began to flicker. Cold pierced Dean, rendering him immobile in the vent. Down below, a blue bunny with green eyes and a red bow tie walked in front of Sam. It watched and inspected. Sam appeared to be disinterested in looking directly at the thing.

He sat down there, alone, face to face with something that would want to kill him. But hopping out of the vent now would only put Sam in more danger than he needed to be in. And that was saying something.

" _Uh, so the company decided to go in a whole new direction and make them super kid friendly."_

The flickering stopped. The bunny was gone. The cold had dissipated. Sam ripped the head off and went back to checking the monitor. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. At least now he could get out of the vent and the chicken head and help his brother.

" _Uh, those older ones shouldn't be able to walk around, but if they to, the whole Freddy head trick should work on them too, so, whatever. Uh. . . Heh. . . I always loved those old characters. Did you ever see Foxy the pirate?"_

 _So that's why the eye patch and hook were for_ , he thought. He reached through with a swiss army knife and fiddled with the screws on the vent grate. Sam swore. The chair rolled. A clatter sounded below. Poor thing probably toppled over something in his panic. "Calm down, Sammy. It's just me."

" _Oh wait, Foxy. . ."_

"What the hell, man," Sam hissed. "You couldn't have knocked?!"

"Oh I could have. But I think Bugs Bunny over there would have been doing more than munch on carrots with you." The screws plopped to the floor one by one.

" _Oh yeah, Foxy!"_

"Alright, fine. Point taken." The pie had been dropped into the younger's hands. "I'll set the bait out. Just check the lights when you get down here."

"You have a light up here. Why do you need more?" After a struggle, the older brother dropped from the vent and peeled the chicken head off. "Jeez, that's stuffy."

"The switches on the the walls, jerk. Hurry up and check for anything in the vents."

" _Uh, hey listen- That one was always a bit twitchy. Uh. . . I'm not sure if the Freddy head trick will work on Foxy."_

Dean followed orders. He flicked the switch on a couple of times and found nothing in the left vent. "All clear."

"Ok, good. Now shut up and let me listen to the phone call."

" _Uh, if for some reason he activates during the night and you see him standing at the far end of the hall, just flash your light at him from time to time. Those older models would always get disoriented with bright lights. It would cause a system restart or something."_

The older sauntered to the right vent and saw nothing within but a lone slice of homemade cherry pie sitting in the plastic lid. This was the vent that the blue bunny had just crawled out of. Sam came back from placing the second in the hallway and sat at the desk. A music box melody played back- exactly the same one as earlier.

" _Uh, come to think of it, you might want to try that on any room where something 'undesirable' might be. It might hold them in place for a few seconds. That glitch might have carried over to the newer models, too. . ."_

Oh really? Dean bent down to-

"Don't touch that light again."

He straightened up again. "What the- Why not?"

"It wastes power. We have to make that last."

" _Uh, one more thing: Don't forget to wind the music box."_

Dean was about to object when he heard that line. The man in the recording must have meant the one at the prize corner.

" _I'll be honest, I never liked that puppet thing. It's always. . . 'thinking', and it can go anywhere. . . "_

 _Save him? You can't._

Dean clenched the tuft of feathers on the chicken head. _You and me both, pal._

" _I just don't think the Freddy mask will fool it, so just don't forget the music box."_

He walked around the the desk and set the chicken head on the floor.

" _Uh . . . Anyway, I'm sure it won't be a problem. Uh, have a good night and I'll talk to you tomorrow."_

The call came to an end. The clicking continued from the seat. The cameras switched without rhyme or reason, it seemed. Every now and again Sam would put the monitor down and check the lights, running up to the lights above the vent openings.

"Uh, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Do I smell like dope to you?"

"You're not high. I'm seeing all the same things you're seeing." He took his seat again and went to the camera watching the prize counter. The music suddenly seemed more eerie than nostalgic. Sam reached for the can again and took a mouthful. "Want some? There's more. A lot more."

Dean blinked. "A can of what?"

"Coffee." He gestured towards the plastic bag. "It just appeared on the desk. There was a note, too. I think it came from a girl."

As he said, a index card had been stuck in the bag, adorned in blue marker. A block of writing took up almost the whole card, save a squiggle at the bottom right corner. He held the corner back to read.

 _I'm sorry I ran away from you the other day. I hope the night shift isn't too rough on you. Here is some coffee if you have trouble staying awake, but I would make it last if I were you. I'm not sure how many bathroom breaks you're allowed on duty._

 _Good luck,_

 _E.F._

The initials seem to flow into a single character, the last rung of the "E" stretching far enough to use it for the top rung of the "F". Maybe "E.F." was one of those artists who liked to use fancy signatures or something. He lifted a glass bottle up with rivers and trees decorating the plastic. _Cold, black brew_ , it read. It was one of many. Was this their version of "some"? There had to be at least ten containers present! "They probably cost-"

"Dean, get your head. Now!"

The chicken head was forced into Dean's torso. The coffee had been abandoned. Sam rammed his head in the bear mask. The lights went haywire once more. Standing above was the bunny again. Not the same bunny. Big, worn, purple, missing it's face. Wires dangled down like disheveled hair. Two rows of teeth pointed up. From within the blackened cavern tiny red eyes glowed and peered down. It didn't bother to move, not like the other one. It stood with a crooked posture, bent in opposite directions at the neck and hips. Dean recalled certain spirits taking on at least a somewhat similar appearance. At full height, it must have been even taller than Sam. And it could probably kill them at any time.

"Look away," whispered Sam. "Or we're dead."

It must have lasted only a moment or a half- a moment or a half too long for his liking. Dean kept his gaze down. He held his breath. Darkness closed in. Then the lights came back on slowly but surely. Sam ripped the head off and attended to the computer and cameras once more. "Son of a bitch," he spat. "There were only four I needed to worry about. Now it's eight!"

"Eight, huh?" Boy, did it feel bad to be wrong. He would have to check the walkman to see if it was working right, assuming they made it out alive.

"Yeah, it wasn't like this last night. I'm kinda glad you're here, but you have to watch out. If they catch you without the disguise, they'll think you're an endoskeleton and try to stuff you in a suit."

"Stuffing. . ."

"Yes, exactly."

"Are we looking at a whole band of Bogeymen, then?"

"Possibly."

"Did any of them take the bait?"

". . . Survey says no."

" _Shit_."

Dean looked down. The purple uniform didn't hinder the poised look of concentration his brother held. He clicked to one camera to another to another to wind up the music box once more. Without missing a beat, he grabbed the coffee again. He was probably like this in college, hunched over law books and his trusty laptop at one in the morning, just like now. Last night was a nightmare, but maybe he was at home in a way. The older blinked. ". . . So you're really serious about this, huh?"

"Uh-huh." He rolled his chair off to the side and pointed to the screen. "Speaking of which, there are a few things that you should know. First off, we have to keep this music box wound up. It keeps one of them asleep. For the rest of them you use the flashlight. If you weren't paying attention to the call, you need it to keep the others away. Problem is, I have limited battery. If it goes out, it goes out for the rest of the night. Look here: That's how much power I have left. I'd say that's a good spot for where we're at now. And it looks like they follow patterns. The map's right here. Bon Bon crawls in the right vent, Chica likes the left, Freddy comes down the hallway and-"

"Sam."

He looked up when his name was called.

The older brother rubbed the back of his neck. There was no easy way to say this, but losing his only brother would most certainly be a heavier weight to bear. "Look, maybe we shouldn't be here."

He pulled away in his seat, taken aback with confusion. "Why not? You wanted this job."

The older brother bit his lip. It had been years. Sam knew what was out there. You would think the questions would stop at some point. With Sam, apparently not. "I know. But sometimes you bite off more than you can chew."

"Dean, do you hear yourself right now? It's the second night! We are nowhere near catching this thing! Or. . . _these_ things."

He looked away. "I know. We'll finish up tonight and get out of here." _It's better than risking a life that isn't mine to risk._

"What, did you get a call from Dad or something?"

"No, I didn't-"

"That what is it? You know you can tell me."

He didn't reply. Of course it would end up like this. If Sam Winchester wanted to do something you could move a mountain before moving him. And maybe that was all well and good, but it was Dean's job to make sure the son of a bitch didn't kill himself in the process! If he could just listen and quit asking questions for _once_ -

Something happened. A new sound broke the wall of sensory desensitization. Music. This new song took on a higher register and quicker, almost jumbled tempo. They both looked to the screen. The white disc as the bottom lay completely empty.

"Oh, no." Sam rushed to the monitor and clicked around. The music that filtered back came out jumbled. "No, no, no."

"What, what is it?"

"I didn't wind the music box. It's coming."

This wasn't like Sam at all. The was the same kind of panic Dean saw when they came home from the first shift. What happened to the cool, studious master of the monitor just now? "Sam, what's coming?"

"The first phone call. . ." He hurried and dug through the leather knapsack. "Miller said that it kept one of them from coming out." A blue tin had been procured. He went up to the door to pour a line. All that came out of the lip of the container was a half portion- nowhere near enough for the doorway and the vents. The music crinkled on. The fan buzzed-

An idea ignited inside. The fan. "This fan's iron, right?"

"H-huh? Uh, maybe- Dean, what are you doing?"

He threw Chica's empty head to the floor and went straight for the item in question. He ripped the cord out of the electrical outlet and grabbed it by the base. "That thing ain't getting in here."

"Dean, no-"

"We're not just going to sit here and hide. These things should be running scared from us, not us of them. And they only reason they're not is because they don't know what the hell we do to things like them."

Dean grabbed the base firm and stood in the middle. This was more than a job. This was more than a waste of pie. Sam's panicked pleas and glaring into the darkness of the hallway. Nothing and no one was going to infringe on his responsibility, even if he had to march through hellfire and drag all the bastards with him.

 _Save him? You can't._

"Try me, fucker."

The music sped up. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. Sam was behind him and that was all that mattered. He waited through the agonizingly long seconds until. . .

"Auuuuu-"

 _Clank!_

"Gau~uuaagh!"

As quickly as it had flown in, the attacking creature had been thrown back into the hallway and skidding across the floor. Dean grabbed his brother's sleeve, urging him to run around the edge. Sam wouldn't listen. He screamed his protests. The creature, all in black and white and bloodthirst, rose again, staring directly at Dean, a shadow clouding its red and purple features. It charged again. In a single fluid motion, the older brother kicked his younger to the ground, desperately trying to get him out of the line of fire and stretched the fan's cord. Dean spun. The puppet flew past. He hooked the cord just underneath the mask and pulled tight. The monster cried in agony. It cast a glare up at Dean and sported a fresh dent in its left eye socket. Even the paint had been chipped.

"Get outta here, Sammy!" The older brother fought to keep the struggling puppet at bay. "Run, now!" _Before this thing does what it said it would!_

He didn't. Sam withdrew the silver bowie knife from his belt and held it out, walking around the wall of the office. He had gone pale again. His grip trembled. He wanted to fight and help, but had completely lost his cool. In the time it took for Dean to observe this, his opponent got the upperhand. It twisted, taking the fan and Dean down to the ground with it. Pain exploded all up his spine and in the back of his head. Stars and dark tendrils danced up above. The fan scraped across the ground.

Dean struggled for consciousness. The lights flickered. He lifted his head and watched the puppet approached Sam. Dean tried to stand, only to fall under his own weight once more. He called out his brother's name. It was a raspy and weak sound. Slowly the puppet glided to his brother, huddled in a corner of the office with the bowie knife still out. Neither moved for a moment like a sick game to prolong the unthinkable. Sam made a stab. The puppet caught his wrist. He struggled, but to no end. Even tears seemed to bead at the corners of his eyes, but this could have been a delirious man's delusion. The blade clattered to the floor.

The puppet hovered over Sam and touched his forehead with a soft brush of its fingertips. That was all it took. Green eyes rolled back, shut closed, and the little brother fell limp into the monster's arms.

Dean cried out in desperate objection. The figure turned his head. He shifted his arms and forced himself to his feet. The pain in his back didn't make standing up easy. He never got that that point. With a soft creak from the chair, the puppet laid an unconscious sibling to rest. With one hand it lifted the older brother from the debris by the collar. It stared down with the same white eyes from earlier that day. The smile never left.

"Eat shit, you bastard." Dean spat in the white face. "You lay a finger on my brother and you're done."

The puppet stared back after a moment. It raised its hand, iron fan in a tight grip, up high.

Pain. Then darkness. And nothing more was to be said about that.

SPN x FNAF

Fear the fan, for it will be the last thing you ever see!

And there you have it. Part 2. I'm not sure where to take it in part 3, but I'll post as soon as I get it down. Please leave a review and let me know how to make it better. See you guys next time!

-Magician Irono

P.S., Bonus points if you can guess the 3 stories Dean was referring to!


	3. Chapter 3:A

Alrighty, part 3! Looks like I actually figured out what to do for this one. Or rather, I remembered what I wanted to do and got it up before Tuesday!

I to have you give you a warning, though. This chapter is going to get a little graphic. Actually, more than a little graphic. I guess you could say it's enough to be rated M. So if you get squeamish, please proceed with caution. I'll explain at the end what happened for those who decide to skip. You have been warned.

Well, that's all I have to say for now. Enjoy!

Part 3:A

 _Busy._

 _Too busy._

 _Why is there only one person working the floor? And in a bear suit, no less._

" _S."_

 _I just wish the crying would stop. Seriously, how much cake does one kid need?_

 _Or, uh. . . six and counting._

 _I gotta say, being able to take care of it all in a bear suit is pretty impressive._

 _Jeez, just stop crying, will you?_

 _"A."_

 _It's small. And I don't really know where I am. Bothering the kids might not be a good idea and the bear guy seems busy-_

 _Huh?_

 _"V."_

 _Who is that? He's all alone. And crying. Was he left here? Is he lost?_

 _. . . These guys can wait. Maybe I can help this one out._

 _"E."_

 _Hey, it's ok. I won't hurt you- I just want to help. Can you tell me about your pare-_

 _W-wait. . . I can't move. Why can't I move?_

 _And. . . who is that?_

 _"H."_

 _Why does he have that knife?_

 _Why is he going after-!?_

 _"I."_

 _No! Stop!_

 _He's just a kid- leave him alone!_

 _God dammit- Move!_

 _"M."_

 _Hey, get back here!_

 _Guys, we- Oh my god, stop crying for five seconds and listen!_

 _Did anyone else see what happened?! C'mon, we have to-_

 _"Aaauuuugh!"_

"Guh!"

"Sam! Sammy, calm down! You're fine, you're fine. It's not here."

He flailed for a moment. Something was holding him down. If it was that goddam puppet and if he was being stuffed in one of the suits-

Thankfully it wasn't. It was only Dean. He was alive. Too close, too bloody, scared shitless, but it was still a living and breathing Dean. Sam felt himself pulled up into firm arms. Despite the air being squeezed out of him, he held on tight. This wasn't a suit. Sam wasn't going to die. He could see the pizzeria parking lot in front him. It was a cloudy morning, but sunlight managed to stretched some beams past it's stormy confinement. Blood hammered in his ears. Somehow he still had his knife. Erratic breathing set itself back in order with a steady rallentando. A sheet of sweat chilled with the breeze on his forehead. His sleeve became damp and sticky. He could smell iron. Dean talked in a gruff hush, muffled by Sam's shoulder. "You're ok, Sammy," he repeated again and again. "That thing didn't get you. You're ok."

". . . Y-yeah." The younger found the fabric on Dean's back and took two fistfuls. He could have been reassuring himself as well but Sam saw neither problem nor fallacy with that. He was more worried about the swollen lump up by his older brother's hairline. "I'm ok."

"You're ok. . ."

And that was the amazing part, wasn't it? Sam didn't think either of them would make it. He let that fear paralyze him that night. The puppet was in the room. It had them trapped. He saw it, but he couldn't fight that white-faced freak. Maybe this wouldn't have happened if he had attacked when Dean had it incapacitated. Maybe they would already be done if he could have just manned up and taken the shot. Hell, if he didn't try to pick a fight with him, Sam could have actually wound up the music box and they might have made it the whole night.

And then there was that nightmare. There was no way he could get out that image, the stark view of a small child's murder. Christ, the tears and blood were _everywhere_. Immobility had taken a hold of him before he could save the boy. And somehow he was the only one who saw it happen before the puppet figure jumped out to rip him away from the scene. All the while those kids just screamed for more cake. How do you miss a knife-brandishing madman like that? Sam had a sinking feeling that it all meant something.

The younger brother forced himself to his feet. Dean was there to steady his sway. "Woah, woah. Easy there, tiger." An ache radiated beneath Sam's skull and deep into his brain. Maybe the puppet had stuffed his head with cotton or tissue paper while he was out, just as a sick joke. He wouldn't doubt it- clowns were always a messed up sort.

"S-sorry," the younger answered. "I'm not feeling so hot."

"Are you? What it is? Shit." Dean leaned down to get a better look at his brother's face. He grit his teeth. Maybe Sam wasn't looking so hot after all. "That puppet bastard did something to you."

"He. . . might have."

"I'm sorry, _he_?"

"Uh. . . yeah. He, it, whatever." The younger steadied his feet. "Look, you're-"

"Sam, it's only a flesh wound. I'll be fine." A sleeve was brought up to smear the blood away. Dean ended up just gently dabbing the area (Oh yeah, sure. _Totally_ fine.). "But we need to get something straight: You are _not_ going back for another shift."

"What? No, I have to go back." Sam shrugged his brother off and managed to stand on his own two feet. This was not the time to be starting with this shit again. "We are not dealing with a band of Sacmen and we're back to square one. This job is already taking longer than we anticipated."

"Look at yourself, man!" An exasperated hand went up as though _he_ was the crazy one."You can't even stand up right. If we don't really know what it is, then maybe it could have made you sick or something. We could be dealing with witchcraft or something worse. Whatever it is, it's after _you_ , Sam."

"Of course they're all after me! I'm the goddamn night guard, just like the others who disappeared!" Seriously, what was with this guy? Sam wished he could chalk it up to the head injury, but Dean was acting this way last night, too. Since when was he so eager to pull out of a job? The signs seemed to point to a secret. That Dean was hiding something.

"You are going to get yourself killed in there!"

It was always like this. Just follow orders, Sammy. Quit asking questions and just do what you're told. I shouldn't have to explain myself because all of this is to keep you safe. Sam was getting sick of it, this disrespect veiled as his own best interest. "Yeah, I might. It's part of the damn job, Dean. You should know- You're the one who dragged me with you!"

And that was was enough to shut the elder up. The creases near his eyes and in his brow disappeared. Every bit of worry and frustration melted from his expression. The arms fell limp to his side. His mouth pressed into a thin line. He nodded. "You know what? You're right."

Oh, shit. He shouldn't have said that. ". . . Aw, no. Dean, I didn't-"

"You seem to be handling yourself just fine. Made it two nights without _my_ damn help. You wanna throw yourself deeper in this? Fine. You want to throw your life away before we find Dad? Fine."

He fisted a hand in his pocket. Keys jangled. Oh no, was he going to try and drive with that head injury?

"But don't make me watch."

And that was that. Dean was storming across the parking lot before Sam could say anymore. He reached out, but retracted his arm as the door slammed. A car engine's snarl rolled across the blacktop in a puff of gasoline. The Impala hit a curb and swerved into the left lane of the road before disappearing completely behind a row of assorted pine trees.

Sam stood alone on the shoulder of a sidewalk in front a pizzeria that wouldn't open until 10. So he took a seat and folded his arms. No one else could be spotted close by. At least he had his guilt to keep him company.

SPN x FNAF

What was there to say? Dean didn't come back. He didn't answer his phone. Sam paced up and down the sidewalk, sat in the shade, threw rocks across the parking lot, counted the cars that drove past, did whatever he could to pass the time. He tried not to worry about his brother. Sam thought less of what they (now he) were up against and focused more on trying to win the mind games he played with himself. Maybe the head injury wasn't that bad. The blood looked dried and coagulated. But Dean looked tired, too. The fight ended pretty quickly, after all. Dean could have a serious injury on his hands. Or rather his head. He wasn't driving right. But he was always a reckless driver. But that was usually just speed. Normally, Dean was able to stay in his own lane. But maybe he was just mad and wanted to get away. But then helping his older brother was too far out of Sam's reach.

The younger sibling sighed and cracked his knuckles. Why didn't he just stop his brother from driving off?

Eventually other cars started to pull in. A man here, a woman there: They all wore the purple uniform needed to work at the pizzeria. Miller did not stand with them. Chatter bubbled around the corner. Sam heard the door unlock. The talk became quiet as the doors shut again. Perhaps now was a good time to step inside. Sam stood up and rounded the corner. Maybe he could at least get something to drink. The coffee was probably still in the back office. Not to mention the mess of pie probably still remained. He smoothed the front of his uniform and walked inside.

Only to immediately regret it.

His stomach lurched. Bile seemed to rocket upwards. A hot knife of agony cleaved itself down the middle of Sam's forehead. The moment he stepped over the threshold every light and sound, strong or weak, blindsided and rammed into him like a freight train. He staggered back out the doors with a hand over his mouth. Leaning up against the wall, he hunched over and retched dryly. Other than the noisy air that came out, Sam was completely empty. Every gag only served to worsen the hammering inside his skull.

 _Gotta sit for a sec._ He slid down the wall with his hands still gripping the concrete behind him. The legs laid stretched flat on the sidewalk. Sam didn't have his brother with him so he splayed what he could on the makeshift anchor of here and now. Another vision was coming up- he just knew it. He retched again. He tried to count his breaths. The pain wouldn't leave. He sat like that for who knows how long. If someone came to check on him, he wasn't aware.

There wasn't going to be a premonition, was there?

He held his head in both of his hands and rocked back and forth from his seat on the sidewalk. So too did he seemed to teeter between this world and the world of what may be. The visions normally went like this: Achy, then painful, then hot and excruciating, and then he would forget the pain as the lights and blurs swept him away into an unexpected time and place. The rest of the world would fall away only to come rushing back like a slap in the face and he would have to scramble in a dizzy haze to save the next victim before it was too late. That moment, he felt as though he walked a balancing act on the throbbing that cleaved through his frontal lobe. His stomach churned in protest. The pain seemed to crawl from his head and stomach to meet his lungs in the middle. This wasn't good. How could he get away from what was causing him to react like this? All he could do was sit and breathe.

It wasn't like this before. He never felt those vibes walking in before, even when the animatronics were most active. That puppet thing really must have done something to him, maybe messed with his abilities or activated something else entirely from within him. And as if that wasn't enough to worry about, some horrendous crying started up near by, probably by some kid. A woman talked softly with it, but he could hardly understand her. There was no way it would end. Sam stood up and made his way around to the shaded side of the building. Breathe in. Breathe out. The young slumped back in a sitting position and stretched his lungs as full as possible. Anything to distract him from the pain. And it might have worked if not for the crying. It just wouldn't stop, hardly got any quieter when he turned the corner.

But at least it was starting to. A few moments had passed, but the piercing screech had already simmered down to a few hiccuping sobs. He could hear the woman speak more clearly now and decided to listen. Breathe in. Breathe out. Whatever would help him cope until this was all over.

"Feeling better," she asked softly.

The child (a boy, probably) let out another sob, but it sounded affirmative.

"Do you not like the noise?"

"No. . ."

"Is it the crowds, then?"

"No. . ." He sobbed again.

"Can you tell me what scares you?"

A word had been stretched into another upsetting cry. Given the context, it must have been "bear".

"Oh, I see. It's Freddy and his friends that scare you."

The boy sniffled.

"Hey, it's ok. Come here."

Shuffling.

"It's ok to be afraid. Freddy and his friends know they can be big and scary sometimes. They don't mean it. They just want to make kids like you laugh and smile, but they understand if you don't like it there. They don't mind if you need to step away for a bit. That's why I'm here- to look out for you and keep you safe when Freddy and the gang can't."

"O-ok. . ."

"We can just sit out here and enjoy the weather until you're ready to go back inside. Does that sound good?"

The boy sniffled. "Yeah. I think so."

"Then it's settled. We'll chill here as long as you want. Do you need another tissue?"

"No thank you, Ms. Frund."

And with that, the torture was abolished. From around the corner, the two talked of various topics, mainly of the birds and the child's family inside. Well, the woman did most of the talking, but Sam could care less. It was a good distraction. The young man felt his stomach eventually settle. The pain simmered to a dull roar. He closed his eyes and tried to relax, to slowly fade away with the breeze and smell of an inevitable thunderstorm. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Something misted down. Perhaps tears. He could see it. The tears and the blood and the glint of a knife's blade. . .

. . .

. . . . .

. . . . . . . . .

 _Tap. Tap._

It didn't last long. The soft nudge of something plastic against his temple brought Sam back to the pizzeria parking lot. He blinked. Someone stood above him. He looked up and squinted into the bright grey sky.

And there she was again.

Holding a gatorade bottle by the top and offering the bottom to Sam, she stood there. Thin, brown hair; pudge in her freckled cheeks; heavy set. The moment their eyes met, she looked away and adjusted her thick rimmed glasses. On top of her purple vest, she wore a pastel pink sweatshirt. From her purple pleated skirt down to her plain flats, black tights covered her thick legs. Maybe Freddy's was the type of place that was more lax about how uniforms were worn. As for her stature, she must have just made it over the five foot mark and carried about 150 pounds. And once again, she looked as nervous as she spoke, complete with the pale look and shakes. "You don't look so good," she stated curtly. "So. . . here."

Normally Sam was good with people. He could pick out certain habits and character traits to play witnesses like a flute. In just fifteen minutes, he could gather every ounce of necessary information a person had. This one was different. Was she trying to be sweet? To be cool or edgy? Sam didn't have the slightest clue.

"Look, I'm worried about you." She looked irritated but still wouldn't face him. "So just take it already. It's the blue kind anyways. How do you refuse the blue kind?!"

"Alright, alright. I'll take it." Oh boy. If this one started to whine like that kid, there was no way he would be able to handle it. Sam accepted the bottle. The candy-like liquid sloshed inside. "Thanks."

". . . Don't mention it."

They sat in silence. Or Sam did. The woman just stood next to him with her hands behind her back. A fidget started up with the sidewalk and the toe of her shoe. The sound wasn't the most pleasant. Sam cracked the bottle open and swallowed a mouthful of the liquid. Sweet saltiness slid down and gummed up in his mouth like a coat of paint. He held his throbbing head in one hand and the bottle in the other. Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Heachache?" Sam caught her tucking her skirt under her rear and sitting down on the shoulder of the pavement.

"Kinda, yeah."

. . .

. . . . .

. . . . . . . . .

 _Tap. Tap._

This time Sam felt it in his shoulder. Something inside rattled. With arms folded and a pout in her lips, the woman held out a small red box. Sam could make out the outline of a plus on the lid. He raised an eyebrow. "What's this?"

". . In the top right corner," she replied. "Children's Motrin. It's all I have, but it's the same as the normal kind. Just comes in smaller doses."

"Uh. . . Thanks?"

"Plus it's grape flavored. And easy to chew."

". . . Right. Thanks."

He accepted the container and popped it open. The bottle had been set down. A white tray sat inside. Six compartments lay within, each with their own assortment of colorful pills. "How do you keep track of all these?"

"They're mine. I just know." She blew strand of hair out her face.

"Is it really ok to-"

"From left to right, it's two cough drops, children's Pepto Bismol above children's Benadryl, and children's chewable Motrin above children's Tylenol."

". . ."

She glanced at Sam for a quick moment, surveying his stunned expression. ". . . The Tylenol is strawberry flavored."

Sam was beginning to notice a pattern. She ran away when she saw him the first time. She was reluctant to speak now. But she had all this stuff prepared for the kids. He realized then that it was her who had convinced the crying boy to calm down in a meager matter of minutes. From the looks of it, she had gotten him to go back inside as well. You know, where "Freddy and his friends" were, according to his fear. And needless to say, things didn't match up. "I heard you talking with that kid," Sam tried. "I take it your name is Ms. Frund?"

She cringed and bit into the hand closest to her mouth. But her response came quicker. Maybe she was starting to relax in her own, uncommon way. "Ester Frund."

"Andy Hendrix." He offered a hand to shake- Wait. Ester Frund: E.F. "Hey, did you leave all that coffee in the office last night?"

And with that Ester closed in on herself again. There was no handshake. She scratched her arm with one hand, just the same spot over and over again. "Y-yeah. What of it?"

"I just wanted to say thanks. It was a nice gesture. But you didn't need to do that. It must have been expensive."

The woman pouted. "I didn't know what kind you liked."

". . . But you didn't need to buy ten bottles."

"H-hey, it's ok." She sat up with her arms folded. "I just have a lot of cash floating around. I don't mind stuff like that. So don't make a big stink of it if someone is nice to you."

. . . This wasn't going anywhere. Sam just took two of the grape tablets and popped them in with a brief "thanks". She would probably lose it if he didn't. He returned the medicine box and washed the Motrin down with another mouthful of gatorade. Thunder rolled softly above. The clouds looked darker than before.

"L-look, I have to go." Ester stood up and dusted her skirt. "You should come inside. Are you on day shift?"

"Hm? No. Night guard. I. . . kinda had a fight with my ride. I'm sort of stranded here."

The woman pursed her lips. Sam could practically see the sparks fly from the frantic gears in her head. "You're going to get worse if you stay out here. So just come in when you can." With that she walked away and entered the establishment.

And peeked her head back out the door to watch and wait a moment later. Sam sighed. "Alright, alright. I'm coming." He stood. One hand cupped his parietal lobe and the other blocked the lights inside the pizzeria. The young man was only a few steps away from Ester when the two finally went inside.

Another nauseating wave hit him. At least this time he was prepared for it. Ester looked back over her shoulder a time or two. She walked ahead, pulled a chair out from one of the tables, and walked away giving an expectant look to Sam. It must have been another "kind gesture". Sam accepted, silently taking a seat. Not a lot of children were really running around, just a toddler or a pair of siblings here and there. The custodian dotted the floor, sweeping under tables and chairs or polishing the animatronics. One of them had just finished hanging up rope around the dressings of the prize corner. Anyone who hadn't been there the prior night wouldn't think much of the "Gone Fishing" sign hung on the present box. All the while something clogged Sam's ears. A hiss, the grind of static- he couldn't quite give it a name. He put his head and his hands again and closed his eyes.

When he did, he saw it again. The blood, the tears, the crying kids and the small, limp body out the window as a car drove off. Sam felt his stomach seize up at the thought.

What do you think of death? Specifically, how would you want to go, if you don't mind being asked? Like most, you might want to go quietly, to go to sleep as though it were another ordinary night and as though you would wake up again the next morning. Maybe you want to go with a sense of closure. Maybe you wouldn't mind the growing cold or potent weariness as long you can spend the last moments telling your family you love them and to be responsible with the finances and assets you have accumulated to bequeath to them. Perhaps one of you has the bright idea of putting a dab or dark humor on your epitaph. "Five more minutes," it might say (you sick bastard). And if you went out the desired way, chances are you'd have no regrets or loose ends- nothing tying you to the material world. As you can imagine, most spirits don't get that closure. No matter how long they wander or how much ground they seem to cover, everything ironically moves on without them. They search for a love or home that may or may not be there. And sometimes they circle and circle in this boiling pot of spite or grief or denial, leaving nothing behind but a rather nasty and wretched stew.

Sam was at square one, but there were still hints. The witching hour, the EMF reader. He suddenly felt like a damned fool. A spirit. It could have been angry, restless spirit. Even before that vision came to him, the signs were present. But a murdered child would be angrier. _Should_ be angier. So where was the ectoplasm? Or a sign other than chills or cold breath? Sure it might not be the same with evil or good spirits, but Sam was still able to sense the watchful eyes and the presence and nature of a spirit. The old house, for example, gave a distinct aura from he bedroom closet. Hell, that was part of how he found Mom. Every possibility and answer in Sam's head tied up into rock hard knots trying to solve themselves, leaving the young man in only more pain.

Something scraped along the floor. Sam cracked an eye open. Ester sat at the other end of the table, having pulled a chair out for a young girl with long hair. She looked to be about 8. The woman rolled up her left sleeve to reveal a chain that hooked on her thumb and ended at her forearm, secured by a safety pin or paperclip. Every link was thin, stretchy, and otherwise completely different from each other. Sam squinted. They were hair ties: Red, blue, green, purple, polka dotted, striped, even going so far as to have little charms on them. The girl picked a yellow one, something to do with her favorite "power ranger" or whatever. Ester nodded, unraveling the chain and removing the desired link. She didn't know that much about them, but let the girl talk her heart out about them, how brave they were and all the bad guys they took down. Sam lifted his head to watch. The woman paid no mind and instead focused on braiding some of the girl's hair and more oddly lax chatter. Ester had clearly found her niche. Eventually she was done. The little girl, with her new waterfall braid embellished with a drop of yellow, skipped away to where a backpack sat beneath a flurry of drawings on the wall. The bag was probably her's, but the green angry man wasn't a very aesthetic design choice.

Ester noticed the young man watching and went back to her nervous self. She kept her eyes down and scurried past Sam-

"I think you did a good job there."

She stopped when he spoke. Ester turned around just a little bit. Judging by the way her eyes darted here and there, she must have had a hard time deciding her words. She seemed about ready to turn away-

"Hey, I'm sorry." Sam put up a hand in defense. "I was just impressed that you handle kids so well. Especially with that crying boy earlier. Not everyone can get someone to calm down that fast."

She seemed to go pale. "Oh yeah, that. . ."

"Hey. It's still impressive. Just saying."

Her shoulders tightened visibly and she held her hands together behind her back. "Well, it's not really that difficult." She went back to digging her toe in the ground. "I listened, that's it."

"Listened? No way, you had to use some kind of hoodoo."

"No, that's really all you need," she replied. The nervous fidgets had disappeared. Ester stood up straight and looked Sam in the eye for the first time. "It's not a matter of getting them to stop crying or keeping them happy. It's a matter of giving them proper attention. What they say is just as important as what we say."

So she was quite passionate about the children here it seemed, going as far as to stand up for them. She didn't even look as nervous when it came to young ones. Sam couldn't speak for the reluctance to talk earlier, but maybe she was a good person deep down. She would certainly make a good mother.

Ester had already started to turn away and pick up a child Sam didn't notice before. The little girl was a small one, alright. She wore cotton pants and a red long sleeve shirt, blonde hair thrown in a wispy mess and blue eyes fluttering open and shut. "A-Anyways," Ester began. "Just go ahead and carry on. I'm going to take this one to a party room and see if we can let her take a quick nap." She walked away, adjusting her hold of the girl in her arms. "If only we had a quiet room or something. . ."

Sam scratched his and know what they say is important, huh? If it was that simple, then why were there still all those parenting books and such? He chuckled to himself.

"Something funny?"

Sam looked up. Another day-worker had caught him sitting at the table. Gangly, face speckled with acne and a loose fitting uniform. He wasn't quite as tall as Sam was, though. Almost, but not quite. He must have been underweight. Close behind he dragged a yellow bucket on wheels, equipped with various cleaning tools. Judging from the wrinkles beneath his eyes, it was too early for him. At close to noon. Sam huffed. _Teenagers._ "Sorry, I was just-"

"Good. Get back to work. We're all cleaning, so you should, too."

Uh, wow. Rude. Sam didn't have the energy to argue, but this kid wasn't going to leave him alone either way. "Oh, uh, no. I'm not on the clock right now."

"What, you on the night shift?"

"Yes, actually. I was-"

"Even better." The teenager threw a mop into Sam's grip. "You forgot to clean up your midnight snack. Go take care of it." Then he left while the wheels of the bucket squeaked noisily.

Sam sighed and took the mop and drink. If he was going to be harassed like this just because he couldn't go home to change out of his uniform, then maybe he was better off sitting back in the office. At least he could try to relax in peace. He shuffled away towards the back of the building, down the hallway and past the spare parts room-

His stomach churned again. His head throbbed. Something was different.

Sam stopped and walked back, throwing a suspicious glance to the door. _Spare parts room,_ the sign read. A strange energy oozed past. Though he couldn't hear it before, a sound filtered through. Sam pressed his ear to the door and heard. . . breathing. Long and raspy, as though someone were struggling to cling onto the last shreds of life it had. This wasn't good. Did someone get pulled in while he was unconscious? Sam abandoned the broom and fiddled with the door knob. _Shit, they locked it._ The young man glanced around while fisting his pockets for something that would help. With Ester in the party room and everyone else on the main floor, it was too crowded. Moreover, just asking for the keys wouldn't look good on him. Maybe he could make to with something else. At least he had an excuse to go back to the office. So he did so, pretended to clean up while digging through the drawers of the desk. Amongst the junk, he found a plastic cup of paper clips. Some were small and some were large. The young man took one of each and discretely bent them into the proper shape. Yes, these would do. Even that acne-faced kid came by to check on his work and suspected nothing. Sam swept the pie off into a corner that no one would see and hurried along.

The young man came back to the room. The raspy breath continued to scrape along the other side of the door. Good- still alive. He looked left and right. All clear. Sam took out the paper clips and started to pick the lock. Fortunately, this one was an old one. Maybe it could have been used as an example in Theodore Tool's _Guide to Lock Picking_. Not even thirty seconds had passed and Sam felt the lock click open. With one more glance around the hallway to ensure no one was watching, he slipped inside and locked the door. No one had to go in after him if there was something inside here.

The room was dark. Pitch black, even. Sam held his breath, patted the wall for a light switch with one hand. He didn't know whether to grab the rosary around his neck or his silver knife. Sam grit his teeth and tried to fight the headache. It seemed to be strongest here. Something moved. The young man heard metallic joints creak. A light flickered at his feet. A face, it seemed, with glowing, cartoonish eyes and complete the softest highlight on the edge of a toothy mouth. Music crinkled, skipping over itself and even creaking in certain areas. Notes were flat out missing, rendering the song unidentifiable. Another long and desperate wheeze sounded below. More metal scraped together. Rust cracked and flaked audibly. From the gaunt light given, Sam could make out a hand reaching upwards ready to pull him down, perhaps to death or to hell. He pulled the knife and flicked the light on.

And saw nothing out of the ordinary. Every animatronic in the room was left it their own corners of the room. Was something alive in here or not? Sam would have thought it an innocent night guard if not for the supernatural energy that burned in the room. He remembered how his mother felt in the old house. The spirit of Mary Winchester was a warm and protective one, vicious when it came to keeping her boys out of harm's way. And this presence. . . Sam couldn't help but think that it had a smaller and more verdant feel to it, like he had just walked into a child's bedroom.

 _"It's a matter of giving them proper attention. What they say is just as important as what we say."_

It was crazy, not to mention improbable. But maybe she was onto something. Sam put the knife back in it's hiding place behind his belt and stooped to the Freddy's level and inspected the features. The eyes didn't face the right way. The teeth weren't completely aligned right either. That balloon boy wasn't the only uncanny thing in this place. ". . . You're awfully quiet," Sam began. "But I get the feeling you have something to say. Is that true?"

Sam waited patiently for his answer. The bear didn't say anything for a while, nor did he appear to move. Maybe he was simply more active in the dark and wasn't in the mood for crawling around right now. The logical conclusion would be that Sam had officially begun to hallucinate due to working the night shift so much. If not for the gradual change in the air, that is, cool enough to tease goosebumps and sending out a pulse alight with apprehension. The bear's train of thought was making it's round without anyone else knowing, Sam could feel it. Freddy blinked. The bulbs were gone. From two hollow eye sockets, two silvery beads glared up at Sam with a sniper's aim. The bear radiated with skepticism, with fear. It felt alive when it shouldn't have been.

"Don't worry. I'm here to help." Sam extended a hand to the heap. "I know something bad happened here, but I don't know what exactly. I need you to tell me."

A pause. The bear watched. Sam swallowed. Maybe Dean would beat his ass if he lived through this. Silence.

Faster than Sam could have reacted to, a hand adorned in wire and fur grabbed Sam's. It wouldn't let go. Something surged ahead on the new found connection. Incomprehensible and otherworldly energies surged into the young man, piercing every pore and nerve he had and filling him to the brim. Sam opened his mouth. He couldn't scream. Everything burned, then went numb. Sam couldn't pick himself back up when he fell limp parallel to the bear. Darkness closed in like a heavy fog. Every bone and organ prickled with the disorienting pull of sleep. Well damn, maybe Sam was a goner. Maybe this was how he was going to go out, taken down by an animatronic bear because of a dumb decision. Sam started to recite a last ditch prayer but couldn't even get past "who art in Heaven". He was gone.

And then he was pulled back up as black and red flashed behind his eyes. An electronic ring plowed over him and rattled his ear drums. Something had wormed its way into his head, poking, prodding, and stretching his mind into a mockery of normal awareness.

"S."

Sam still felt hazy, but everything else was clear. He was standing in the office again and everything appeared to be in order. The computer, the lights, the pictures, the papers- even the old iron fan took it's throne of top of the desk. But something was missing. Either Sam was wrong or he could have sworn he forgot to clean up the pie and coffee left the prior night.

"A."

Freddy stood against the back wall, but he wasn't his usual self. Sam thought this version was much newer. The fur looked healthy for a brown synthetic coat and not a single tear was to be found. No wires spewed out and the bear stood fine on its own. Black top hat, black bowtie, black buttons, and even the microphone looked to be shiny and fresh. Freddy looked directly at Sam and marched towards him. The young man staggered back and flailed to reach for the iron fan. It was too late. The bear got closer and closer, only to walk through Sam completely. Sam blinked. He patted his chest and then the wall, one structure solid and the other letting the hand pass through like air.

Oh, of course. This was something that had already happened. This was real and Sam was real, just not at the same time or in the same place.

"V."

Freddy wandered down the hallway, heavy and clanking footsteps echoing off the walls. Sam followed. From the entrances to the party rooms to the sketches on the walls, this had to be the same building. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam spotted a small heap under the table of the first party room on his left. A metallic smell tickled his nose. He leaned into check. It was hard to make out, being so twisted and knotted together, but Sam could make out bits and pieces. A red bow here, a character print sock there, the sharp corner of the bent neck and the chalk white skin-

Sam turned his head away and left with a cold, crawling feeling in his chest. He took a deep breath to calm himself and followed Freddy. He counted one dead little girl.

"E."

Something glided forward- no, someone. There was no mistaking it, not with that mask or those striped limbs. The puppet tossed a look over it's shoulder. Maybe that thing and Freddy had some sort of exchange that Sam wasn't aware of. Freddy picked up his pace. The smell of blood grew stronger. More clanking. The young man proceeded anyways.

Did he hear another set of human footsteps? He wasn't sure.

"T."

A second dead child leaned against furthest corner of the second hallway, past an empty suit of a golden bear. The floor seemed to be painted red and still wet with a few trinkets scattered here and there. A yoyo, a scrap of green T-shirt and a tiny human foot to name a few. The skin on the body had been cut off like an animal, organs spilling out in wrinkled wads. What remained of the arms and legs flopped in odd ways, some rolled up and others plastered against the wall like a discarded rag. The blood soaked through Sam's shoes and dampened his socks.

Monsters typically eat or kill when it comes people, children included. Usually they do it to survive and are quick with their work. Sometimes they do terrible things. But even if a creature eats only half their food, they never smear the body all over the ground, corner to corner, to give it a new color.

"H."

Three. Four. Five. Some with bones poking out, some with dried fluids crusted around the nose, eyes and mouth. One even appeared to have it's entire forehead bitten clean off. It wasn't right. Children shouldn't be lying cold and motionless under a buzzing cloud of flies, even if they are dead. Don't these things usually end up with a proper funeral and a mountainous ring of flowers and stuffed animals around a petite gravestone? Don't these things usually never happen and the young ones get a chance to live before this inevitable fate closes in? Whether or not Freddy was fazed by any of this, Sam wasn't sure. The puppet certainly wasn't paying any mind to them. Disgust boiled up. Sam was not a part of this world. He couldn't do anything about the five dead children in the pizzeria. These things could, yet they didn't. Why? They were clearly autonomous and sentient. Did they have no heart? Was there a more pressing matter than giving the dead some respect?

Sam heard laughter. The puppet swerved abruptly to the right. Freddy turned around. They were not alone.

"E."

Sam couldn't make out much. The sadistic laughter came out in an incoherent garble, the face had completely blurred into the darkness. With those purple clothes, that golden badge and the knife in his hand- Christ, that could be anyone. But whoever it was, the figure standing at the end of the hallway wasn't in the mood for playing games. It gave chase. Sam bolted the other way and hid around the corner.

"M."

Neither animatronic had followed him. He didn't hear the rickety steps. Sam peeked around the corner. While the puppet was nowhere to be found, Freddy stood in the middle. He didn't move. All the while the attacker came closer. The bear made a step away. The man made three. Something had to have locked up. Closer and closer he came. Then he was right behind Freddy.

The man in purple brought the knife down. Sam saw flashes of blue.

 _You can't._

And that was that. He was suddenly looking up at the ceiling of the spare parts room from his supine position and breathing hard. Sam sat up. The room spun immediately and every limb felt stiff and heavy. His head felt particularly foggy, like there had been a way to stuff more tissue paper in there. Sam didn't feel nauseous anymore, but he was in no mood to play on that border. Images of the undersized corpses stuck fresh in his memory. The young man took a minute to rest. With the lights still on, the animatronics probably wouldn't bother him. And quite frankly, he could care less about any of that.

 _Amazing._ With all the research, asking people around and two nights spent trapped in the cramped, innermost office, he had overlooked the best primary source available. And the key came from a coworker who didn't even seem to like hanging around other adults.

Sam took a minute to recollect himself and the facts. The five bodies seemed awfully reminiscent of disappearance of five children. Perhaps he had witnessed one of the two, thanks to the thing the bear suit. He could have been dealing not only with spirits, but something else. Still, the man in purple wasn't really anything extraordinary. He himself could have qualified as a shifter, but Sam needed more details. Humanoid, male, and knife brandishing does not a monster make. At least, not always. He would probably have to go back to that college library again. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad- the librarian was a nice lady.

Sam adjusted his seat and felt his forehead nudge into something. He looked up. Foxy stared down from his crooked standing position with the same black and white eyes Freddy had. The red animatronic extended a rusted metal hook, fit for a pirate- the item Sam had bumped into. Wasn't he sitting in the corner a moment ago? The young man surveyed the being. Foxy gave an air just as frightful as Freddy's was a bit ago. But there was something else. Something a little brighter, a glimmer of hope that burned no stronger than a lighter's flame. Sam looked once more at the offered appendage.

". . . Sure. Why not?" He needed more details anyways. Sam grabbed the hook with a firm grip and was swept away in a blur of black and red once more.

The first thing he could make out was a wall of purple. Not an ordinary wall, though. He didn't bother to reach out and touch, but the material in front of him seemed to be a large and heavy curtain. Something creaked back and forth next to Sam. And the source of the sound was none other than the red fox animatronic. Once again, he looked much cleaner than in the present day. No tears, no exposed endoskeleton. The bring red tail swished back and forth with every impatient step. Foxy wore an eye patch, faded trousers and a shiny hook on one hand (er, paw). He appeared to be staring up at a light. It was a sign, to be exact, with a simple question. _Ready?_

Ready? Ready for what? The answer was thrown in Sam's face when the flashed a new message. _Go! Go! Go!_ Foxy bolted past the curtains like he were running from pepper on his tailgate. The fabric settled. Frolicking laughter and cheers erupted from the other side. Party poppers went off. Sam walked past the curtains and saw a gathering of five children, all smiles and laughter and a mess of birthday cake. The fox didn't seem to care. With a big smile, the animatronic hoisted one girl in pirate attire on his shoulder. Two more ran around his feet, a pair of boys. It all collapsed together into a heap of smiles and joy. It was another year to be alive and that meant more time to celebrate. One little child wasn't happy to be there, but even that didn't last long. He, too, joined in the bliss that was not meant only for the birthday child.

Everything sped up and blurred together. Time seemed to run fast forward, past parents taking home their children and clean up crews. Eventually Sam found himself in a party room with five children waiting patiently at a table with birthday cake. Someone else must have turned a year older.

 _Ready? Go! Go! Go!_

Foxy sprinted out again. More party poppers. Another bout of "Hooray"s. It was the same thing, except for something the young man didn't notice before. Foxy didn't seem to mind all the trouble. He was happy, scampering and dancing with the children. It was clear that these were the best time of his artificial life. Foxy was right at home here. And it affected Sam. Between this and the last, the haze had disappeared. The pulsating headache evaporated into thin air. He wasn't the least bit sick or cold. Sam felt warmth from head to toe and his strength was almost completely back. He was happy. Every care and worry floated away. If he was completely honest with himself, it felt like having Jess back in his arms, alive and well. No monsters, no studies- just an opportunity of enjoy a sunny afternoon, so run his fingers on her soft skin and catch a hint of her soap scented hair. He could almost hear her hypnotic ramblings about the new baking recipes she wanted to try.

Foxy fell from the weight of the kids he carried but seemed to laugh with them, making sure no one was hurt. Sam chuckled. A robot who loved his work. The young man had officially seen it all.

 _Ready?_

Time sped forward again. It was dark. A horrible night had descended upon them. The laugher thinned out with a hollow ring. All was silent. Sam stood alone before the purple curtains. The pain and sickness were back. The young man had to lean against the wall. He covered his mouth and nose. The stench of rotting bodies didn't help. A familiar figure in a purple uniform stood next to the structure. Foxy burst out with an air of pure panic, then of pure horror as he sprinted down his usual path. All the while, the man in purple looked upon Foxy with a fond smile, curled and thin. What was that man doing here, anyways?

Sam looked to his right and saw. There was no party. There was no happiness. Sprawled around like a mess of toys was another set of five dead children. The unhappy child from before had his face carved into a smile, right up the cheeks. The two boys who had been running around before were not doing so. Their legs bent at every grotesque juncture except for the knees. Foxy knelt down to one body and gingerly cradled it. If not for the gouged eye sockets and long slit across the throat, it would have been the splitting image of the girl in the pirate attire.

Foxy looked directly at Sam. He had to get away. It was dangerous.

"Aauuuugh!"

And then he was pushed back to float in a dark incoherency, neither in the past nor the present. Nothing was there to pull him out.

 **SPN x FNAF**

Every limb felt numb and heavy. The world of the present moment blurred and zipped past him. He couldn't move. He couldn't open his eyes. Yet somehow, Sam could pick out small details here and there. A flustered woman for one. A man with short hair and green eyes for another. And two strangers with him, at that. One seemed to chase after the other. What were they running with, anyways? Scissors? How childish. . .

The man with green eyes spoke with garbled empathy. Sam felt himself hoisted up, his two left feet fumbling blindly along. There was a musk of car oil and antiseptic. He felt urgency. He had to do something for this man with the green eyes, or at least tell him something. He parted his mouth and the blackness swallowed him whole, spitting him back up for a bout of rickety motion or a bright neon light. How they all fit together, Sam couldn't fathom.

Maybe it was a bad idea to jump into those visions one after the other, after all. . .

 **SPN x FNAF**

However, the young man did wake up clearly and coherently at some point. Same blinked awake. He could put the pieces before him together, but didn't necessarily like what he saw. Horrid pastel curtains, furniture that didn't match, off-key singing of "Dead or Alive" over the high pitched whistle of a shower running too hot. Back in the room, it seemed. Judging from the air brushings of mulberry and navy out the window, sundown had already passed. The covers were too hot and Sam's joints seemed to squeak and creak together with just a small shift to get more comfortable. He still felt like shit and he still had the night shift. With a protestant groan, the younger sibling pulled the covers over his head. What happened to the senseless void? Why couldn't he just flip a switch and sleep the suffering away? He closed his eyes and lay stranded in his bed away from dreamland.

The water shut off with a squeak. With an airy fermata, the singer presumed to be Dean finished up his tune. Curtain rings swished swiftly across the shower rod. Fabric ruffled from the other side of the door. Sam rolled over and cracked an eye open once more. A number of empty cups had been left on the wax covered table. Dean must have had a drink or two to unwind. The door creaked open. He could see the older brother pat his head dry instead of mussing the towel over his head, still dancing to whatever music he had playing in his head. Dean took it off. A square of gauze had been patched up where Sam had seen blood that morning. At least he got that head injury treated. He remembered the fight they had and suddenly felt guilty. The bed creaked as he sat up. Throbbing knives of pain wedged themselves beneath his skull and swam around in wide breast strokes. Before Sam could say anything, Dean had caught sight of him. The carefree demeanor was gone in an instant. _Oh boy,_ thought Sam. _Here we go._

"Sam." Overprotective big brother mode engage. The towel fell forgotten to the floor and Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed a second later. His hands were everywhere, from his forehead to his eyes, even to a moist rag being put back on his neck that Sam wasn't aware of. "How're you feeling?"

Sam pouted. "Smothered." This guy pretty much radiated heat and the younger wasn't exactly wasn't exactly in the mood for this. At least the cool rag felt nice.

"I'm serious, smart ass." Dean bore his teeth somewhat and scowled, looking away for a instance or two. "I let you bitch around that pizzeria by yourself and I have to see if shit got worse while I was gone. So answer damn the question."

Ok, Dean wasn't always one for talking. If it came down to that or killing something, you could bet your ass he was going to grab his guns before asking questions. To an outsider, an exchange like this would seem incisive or ill-mannered. It was both this and both well-intentioned. Thus you have the unique brand of apology so characteristic of the older Winchester brother, for running out and saying what was said. The younger didn't have the energy or desire to argue with that. "I'm fine. Just warm. . . Thanks."

He caught the slightest hint of a smirk. Apology accepted. Dean started to snicker. "Dude, you bedhead is still legendary, I swear."

"Shut up, man."

Dean laughed. "Hey, I'm just clownin' ya." He pushed his fist into Sam's shoulder. "You hungry? I can get some-"

"No."

"No?"

"Yes, as in no, I'm not hungry." He really wasn't. Today was draining. He just needed some peace and quiet.

". . . Want anything to drink?"

"No. Just lemme sleep." He flopped on the bed and covered his eyes.

A pause. "Don't tell me you're still tired." Concern bled into every word.

"Ok, I won't. I'll just go back to sleep." Yeah, Dean was being nice but he really couldn't take a hint. The darkness behind Sam's eyelids seemed so fond and so inviting. He just wanted to jump off and drift in the abyss for a little more.

"Sam, if I'm to believe what Mrs. Skittish said, you've been sleeping for 12 hours straight."

"Skittish?"

"Yeah, Skittish. Short, panicky girl with the thunder thighs, picked up your phone and hung up on me."

Oh, her. "That's Ester. Great with kids. Now lemme sleep." He would have to ask about the phone later.

Dean huffed in defeat. His footsteps rolled away from the bed. Finally, he could-

 _Krkrkrrrrrkrrreeeeeeerrkrkrkrkrrrrrkrkrkrrreeeeeeekrkrkrrrrr~_

Oh, for fuck's sake! "If that's that damn EMF reader again, I will clock you in the throat."

No response. The device had been promptly shut off. Footsteps tapped up and down along the length of the bed. Silence. Whatever was with Dean this time had him behaving weird, didn't it? Maybe he still felt bad about earlier. "Don't worry about it. If it really bugs you, I'll let you come with. Just hide like before."

A huff. ". . . Alright, fine. We can do that. Just let me handle the cameras this time."

"I'm sorry?"

"Dude, c'mon. You're being paid minimum wage to sit in an office with a computer that probably still has MS DOS on it. It can't be that difficult to operate unless you're feeling like shit like you are now."

Dammit, he really couldn't argue. "Yeah, sure. Fine. Whatever."

"Good. Go ahead and chill a bit more, see if you feel better. I'll wake you up when it's time to go."

Yippie. Sam huffed and turned over. At least Dean would finally let him rest a bit more. His memory of the night would become clouded and convoluted again. At least he wasn't going it alone.

SPN x FNAF

"H."

This was it. The missing link, the final answer. Plain as day, it lay before him.

"E."

It was not clear at all. Everything took a butchered and pixelated overlay, but Sam could still tell what was what.

"L."

Four bodies. Four gifts. No life. A masked figure who glided back and forth between them.

"P."

It circled and circled the bodies. Was this a ritual of some sort? Hoodoo?

"T."

The presents were gone. The puppet made its rounds again. Without the man in purple around, it must have been easier to to the deed.

"H."

One. Two.

"E."

Three. Four.

"M."

This was it- the smoking gun, the proof. They had their monster. And the final dead child surged forth to shove him away from it all.

"Aaaaaaaauuuugh!"

SPN x FNAF

Yeah, this is a time when Dean still has fun in the shower!

So for anyone who skipped the gore, the "visions" were basically more graphic versions of the death minigames from FNAF 2. The next part should be a little less graphic, but hopefully you guys still think it's creepy and well written.

And hopefully you guys like Ester! I'm not used to making my own characters and I was super scared that she would be just another Mary Sue (Thanks again to Casamora for giving it the go signal).

If anything sticks out as good or bad, please leave a review and let me know. Thanks again! Next time we'll see things from Dean's side of the third day. Even though it won't be out until around the Tuesday after this next one, I look forward to seeing you all then!

-Magician Irono


	4. Chapter 3:B

Oh jeez. Last time I worked on this, the Cubs won the world series.

But here you go, if you're still around. The other half of the story. Enjoy!

Part 3:B

"You want to throw away your life before we find Dad? Fine. . . But don't make me watch."

And that was the end of that. Dean stormed across the parking lot. Didn't hear a peep out of Sam as he left. Whether it was because the younger one just wasn't saying anything or because Dean ignored him, he didn't know. He didn't give a rat's ass, either. He just had to drive. He didn't give a damn where. The zipping lights that swam in his vision screwed with his control of the car but he was better once he got out of the parking lot. It was that damned place. It was his damned brother. He had to leave it behind for a while. Maybe a long while.

Dean drove, pedal to the metal. Trees and houses in the middle of nowhere blurred past in the 80 mile per hour dash to simply get away. He gripped the steering wheel as though he intended to break it. His ears felt hot and he bit the inside of his cheek. A clumsy finger jabbed at the cassette player. Not even Bob Segar or Van Halen could calm him down at this point. Dean settled for the radio, only to ignore the weather and traffic reports.

How dare he. Honestly, how _dare_ he. Spoiler alert, _he_ was the one who went with. Who threw the weapons in the Impala and slammed the trunk shut as firefighters put the burning building out? Sam. Revenge was just as much his cup of tea as it was Dean's. The same demon took away both Jessica and their Mother. And there was the possibility that it had Dad. And what does Sam want to do? Turn this shit around and make it all Dean's fault. What the hell does he even know? If they're talking about what's who's fault, he was the one who wanted to leave the family business. The one who walked out. Sam was the one who went off to have a normal partying and getting laid life. Once a bitch, always a bitch.

If Dean was really honest with himself, there were times when he really hated his-

A solid mass suddenly came into view. Dean swore and slammed the breaks. Tires screeched. Glass shattered. The hard stop pulled the man's head back into the seat's headpiece and he felt himself slam, torso first, into the steering wheel (Airbags weren't very commonplace until long after 1967). When he got his bearings together again, the sight before him made him speechless. Was it a monster? No. A corpse? No. The yellow-eyed demon come for his ass? Just as bad, if not worse.

Out the cracked windshield, a steady cloud of grey smoke climbed up thick and slow. The engine coughed and belched. Then it seemed to die completely. Dean snarled. His ears burned hot. He opened the door and looked over the frame. Glass shards littered the road. The headlight had caved in, crushed, and the hood behind took on new craters from the accident. From a grey pick up truck, a man stepped out of the driver's seat. Another stepped out of the passenger's seat. And that was when their first meeting began.

"What the hell's your problem?!" Dean slammed the Impala's door and marched forward. "Look what you did to my goddam car!"

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry." The driver, a man with bright red hair, glasses and hefty build, put his hands up in defense. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't see you there-"

"How do you not see that?!" Dean flung his arm in the direction of the wreck. "That's my goddam car!"

"I know, and I'm sorry and- Oh my God." He pointed up to the still bloody hairline. "That didn't just happen, did it? Why were you driving with your head like?"

"Hey, you!" The third man circled the car and marched straight up to Dean. "You trashed my buddy's truck!"

"No way, you're the one who came out of nowhere!" Dean jabbed a finger at the new offensor. Tall, hazel eyes, cap on a mop of brown-colored had-head. He was a goofy guy who had no business picking fights, especially after what had just happened.

"Hey, at least my buddy here doesn't drive like an autistic five-year-old. Unlike some stupid haircut I'm looking at right now."

"Oh no. Jeremy, please. This really isn't the best-"

" _Excuse_ me?" Dean squared up to the oppressor. There was no way he meant that, was there? This guy was not in a position to be joking around.

The man stood up straight and puffed out his chest. "You heard me. I said you drive like you're playing shit tennis with an orangutan with your head up a hyena's asshole."

"Oh, you feeling lucky today?" Was this fucker even scared? Who the hell even picks that specific string of words?!

"I'm feeling- Oh hey, look!" He straightened up with a big grin on his face, pointed past the accident and up to the sky. "Is that a hawk?"

This guy wasn't serious, was he?! Dean didn't give a damn about the hawk. Rather, he was fighting every part of him that wanted to throw this psycho into a woodchipper.

And then he has the nerve to look back down as if nothing ever happened. "Oh, hi there. Something the matter? You look awfully pissed."

That was it. Dean was officially done. He threw a point blank fist into the opposition's jaw. The taller man staggered back and fell against the truck. Foureyes stood petrified until the fight had begun. Then he dove between him and Dean, stuttering out an apology and holding his friend back. It didn't work. The emaciated assailant gripped the smaller protectively and reached for Dean's shirt collar, lifting him off the ground and throwing him against the wreck Impala.

And that was it. Douche bag- 1, Dean- 0.

SPN x FNAF

". . . Hey."

"What?"

"This guy totally looks like a bottom bitch."

"Oh my God, I already told you! You can't just say things like that!"

"Why not? It's just words."

"It's called respect!"

"What is?"

"You don't just say that someone looks they're on the. . . receiving end of a relationship like that! It's rude!"

"Oh, really? Who said that? And when?"

"Ugh, I'll explain later. Just sit there and watch the birds."

". . ."

". . ."

"Hey, did I already say this guy totally looks like a bottom bitch? Because he totally does."

". . . Jeremy, please. Just watch the birds."

SPN x FNAF

And that was, more or less, how Dean ended up the ER of the Health One Medical Center of Aurora, complete with the stench of alcohol, gurneys rolling dilapidated and sickly people this way and that, redundant Christ imagery so characteristic of hospitals, and even a woman at the far end of the hall screaming hysterically over an IV needle.

"He's awake! Nurse? Nurse!"

Dean sat up immediately upon waking, ignoring the overpowering light and throbbing in his skull. This was suspicious. Hospitals were suspicious, especially when he didn't remember how he got there and when the clock had its hands pointing at 12 and 3. Never mind the clear view to the waiting room, beige walls, off white equipment on the walls, and smooth wooden embellishments of the cabinets and drawers. Being in a place like this meant he was going to be questioned, poked and prodded at. They might ask where he came from and what brought him to the area. Worst of all, they'd be asking for insurance he didn't have. He shifted to swing his feet over the bed. The world blurred. Dean blinked hard. Easy, easy-

"Woah, woah, easy there buddy. You can't be walking just yet."

From behind the curtain and past a pain rating chart on the wall, a shapely woman walked in, dressed only in lavender scrubs, fresh latex gloves and a pair of electric blue crocs. And that was all that was needed to stop him in his spot.

Well, being stuck in a hospital wasn't so bad as long as the nurses were hot.

Fortunately this one was. Rich, dark skin, hypnotic eyes, adorable and springy black curls framing her face- she seemed as calm and inviting as a cold beer on a starry night. Two silver hoops dangled from her ears and poked out of the edge of her hairline. Her hands, at just the perfect juncture of gentle and firm, held the hunter in his place on his cot. And damn, that look was enough to keep him place and entrapped in her beauty.

Or maybe that was just the head injury talking.

"Sir, look at me," she ordered. "Stay calm. You just hit your head and these nice gentlemen brought you here. No one's going to hurt you. You understand that, right?"

The man blinked again. Brought here? By who? He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He shot a sideways glance to the left and sure enough, two men sat in the chairs against the curtain. One was a tall, lean man. A little gruff, wrinkles around his hazel eyes, with a five-o'clock shadow reaching all the way up to his ears. A baseball cap sat upon his head, displaying the man's support for the Chicago Cubs (Which Dean didn't understand- Not like they'd ever win anything, after all). Everything else about him was utterly out of place. He was clearly older, but way too thin to be such. He wore a brown pinstripe button up with blue jeans and topped it off with a pair of worn Nikes of all things. The tall man watched patients and medical staff pass by and went to stand up. Someone else pulled him down. Glasses, red hair, hefty. He looked to keep himself trimmed and pristine at all times, despite his plain attire of sneakers, a striped T-shirt of black, grey and white, and a plain pair of cargo shorts. Above all else, this man was a man who carried his fears and worries with him like a nine pound hammer, from the grey roots of his hair to the bags under his eyes. Even his eyebrows appeared to be perpetually knit together as if to say, _Please tell her the truth, for all our sakes._ Dean huffed. "Right," he finally answered. "Got it."

"Ok." The nurse moved around to the other side of the bed. Dean caught a sight of her nametag. _Hello,_ it read. _My name is Ivory._ "Can you tell me for about how long you have been unconscious?"

"Um. . ." Dean cleared his throat. "Five, six hours? At least?"

"Alright. . ." She went to prod at the back of the man's neck. "How does this feel?"

He caught sight of Foureyes giving him the look again. _Just be honest, please._ "A little tender."

"Any pain, nausea, fatigue?"

"Kinda tired, kinda sore. Overall decent."

"Is that so. . ." She continued her examination and questioning. Checking reflexes, shining a light in Dean's eyes, testing motor functions. Yeah, that was another thing he didn't like about hospitals- redundant tests for the most basic of tasks. Yes, he knew where her finger is. Yes, he could tell how many she is holding up. Yes, he could walk just fine. All he wanted was to get out, get back to his Impala, and go somewhere else. He didn't care where. Just anywhere open that didn't reek of drugs and old people.

That and he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he had something else to take care of. Something urgent and important.

"Alright." The nurse had finally finished. "You seem to have bounced back pretty well. Must have an angel watching over you." She turned to leave, gesturing towards the two men in the chairs. "You two make sure he doesn't go anywhere. I'm going to see if the MRI results have turned up anything alarming. Your friend here should be fine, but I'm not taking chances. Be back in a few."

And with that, she left with the ruffle of a teal curtain. Silence fell between the three. Thunder rumbled outside. Was it raining? Dean didn't pay it another second of thought and decided to break the ice.

"So, what?" Dean folded his hands with a soft clap. "You don't want my insurance or anything?" He hoped that they didn't, but it was still puzzling all the same. "I mean, I clipped your tail light."

"Oh, yeah. That." The taller stood up straight. "You did do that to us. I almost forgot. I think that's how shit-eating asshats-"

"Jeremy, please!" The shorter man grabbed "Jeremy's" sleeve and pulled him back down. "There are other people here trying to recover. Hold your tongue!" He turned to Dean, brows knit and posture bent forward in shame. "Look, I'm sorry. Again. Just don't worry about the insurance, it's just a tail light. I doubt my provider will want to cover it anyways." He modestly gestured to the bandaging on his forehead. "Just try and get some rest for that. You really shouldn't have been driving with your head split open like that, especially that fast." His expression softened with worry. "What were you running from anyways?"

And that's when it all surged back. The puppet; Sam's limp body; the fight; the anger. Dean looked at the tile floor and clenched the sterile sheets in his fists. "I. . . just had to drive. That's all."

". . . Ok. But from what?"

Huh? Dean straightened up quizzically. "Whadaya mean?"

"Please, you can tell me." The fat guy suddenly looked very serious. He leaned forward with both hand son his knees and was adamant with his request. "It's important that you let us know who or what you were driving so frantically away from."

He knew it could be a "what"? ". . . Can I ask why?"

The man frowned. ". . . I can't tell you. It's not easy to explain. But I think I can once it's all over. I just need that once piece of information."

Dean blinked. At first this guy seemed overly nice. Letting him off the hook for a car crash on a count of his head injury was one thing. Generous, stupid, whatever. Call it what you want. But then there was this. For someone so frantic before, he wasn't nervous per say this time around. More like he was within reach of some important goal. He clenched his fists a bit too tight and his eyes bore too deep into Dean, waiting for an answer. Why was he so interested? A normal person wouldn't get this worked up over a mere accident, or at least not _this_ type of worked up.

This man knew something. Something about the case. And it was entirely possible that he had something to do with it.

Dean felt his heart flip. If only he had his gun with him. Hell, _any_ gun would be handy right about now, even the noisy cricket! But this was a hospital, crawling with medical practitioners and well stocked with sedatives. In a cramped, curtained room down the on the first floor, hand to hand combat would be near impossible. Moreover, an innocent patient could still get hurt. And that was something else he hated about hospitals- he couldn't get away with anything. None of that would bode well.

But that didn't mean the _entire_ hospital was like that. Maybe he could get himself somewhere more secluded.

"Just some creep," Dean replied. Not a complete lie or out of the realm of possibility. It was a good, vague answer. "Look, I gotta piss. I'll be back and- _Nngh. . ._ " Upon standing, he held his head and pretended to stagger. And it worked. Never mind that this was the last place to be faking that kind of stuff. Fritz was on his feet and ready to help Dean in an instant.

"Hey, hey, hey!" The red-headed man had a firm grip on Dean's arm. He must have been stronger than he let on. "Look, that's really not a good idea. Maybe we can call a nurse to get you a bedpan or something-"

"I'm fine," he insisted. "Just lemme walk to the bathroom." Dean didn't make another motion to fake his condition. He already had this guy on the ropes and wouldn't be letting up anytime soon.

And it clearly showed. The redhead bit his lip, glancing between him and Jeremy. "Just give me a minute," came the defeated sigh. The heavy set man went to his friend and removed his belt to. . . tie his hand to the arm of the chair? "Jeremy, stay here, ok? I'm going to help this guy out for a bit." The leather was pulled tight, metal latch falling into place. "It's your job to make sure no one takes his spot. Can you do that?"

Apparently he didn't even realise that he was being tied down. Jeremy saluted and put on a determined pout.

"Ok, good. Stay there. I'll be back."

Eventually they found themselves leaving the emergency room behind. Dean kept his act up, played his helper like a fiddle, studied him when he could. Foureyes still seemed to be the nervous type. His eyes were always darting everywhere and he chewed his lip. The passing staff didn't even need to look at him funny to get an apology out of him. He would even explain where they were going, warranting one or two nurses to give them directions. Once or twice, Dean had to remind him what was important so they would keep moving. Eventually they found a suitable stall. Dean looked around. No one seemed to be watching them- the last camera they passed had been placed a number of feet back. The corridor lay vacant all around, save the few patients who either slept or amused themselves with daytime television.

Yes, this place was perfect.

"O-Ok," stammered the red head. "Here you are. Are you going to need me to come in with you? I won't look, I sw- Eeeek!"

Dean threw up the gig and yanked Foureyes inside, throwing him against the wall. As far as he knew, it was a clean sneak. No one saw them. The door shut quietly and Dean pressed the lock in. "Alright, start talking. You're-"

"No, please don't! I have hemorrhoids, I swear!"

"Wait, what?"

Foureyes whimpered and pleaded. "You won't like it, I promise! Plus I had a lot of garlic and onions today-"

"What the- No! Jeez, I don't even swing that way! I've got you like this because you know something!"

He sniffled. "H-Huh?"

"About Freddy Fazbear's. You know what's going on there, don't you?"

No response.

"I thought I said spill," Dean sneered. "Tell me why you want to know about the place so badly or someone's ending up on a stretcher."

The man looked back with confusion and horror filling his lenses corner to corner. "Who. . . are you? Who are you really?"

"The one you're going to have a serious problem with if you don't explain this instant." Seriously, Dean was getting sick of the act. "So out with it- What do you know about that pizzeria?"

Fritz swallowed and looked away. "You won't believe me. It's just too crazy."

"I'll take it with a grain of salt. Start talking."

Fritz squeaked. "T-They're not right," he forced out. "The animatronics- They're not right! They're evil! Demonic! Satanic! They say it's a great place for kids, but none of it's true!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know that part. They come to life and stuff you in suits- Tell me something I don't know."

"What the- You know they stuff you? And are active at night?"

"You're starting to piss me off here."

"Ok, ok! Just- C-Can you let me go first?" Foureyes wiggled uncomfortably in his position against the wall. "I mean, I have a whole book on this stuff! If you wanted to know, why didn't you just ask!?"

Ask? No, it wasn't that simple. "This is bigger and more dangerous than you could imagine," Dean explained. "You shouldn't be involved."

"You think I don't already know that?" Oh, did he strike a nerve? If the sudden change of tone wasn't enough, Foureyes shoved Dean's hands away. The fear didn't disappear- merely, it receded into the hidden cauldron where it stewed and aged. It was a horse of a different color. New creases formed in his face, heavy instead of rigid. "I've been trying for so long to stop this and to keep more people from being hurt. But I can only do so much. The animatronics- They won't let me back in. I've been registered as a criminal in their programming." He stepped away and paced around the tiny room. "More of them are going to die. It's not going to stop and I can't do anything about it."

Not going to stop. Can't do anything about it. The man crossed his arms and rubbed his shoulders as though cold. He handled his helplessness differently than Dean was used to seeing. There was a certain acceptance that not many are mature enough to replicate. There was a slow splintering and breaking beneath the weight this man wore. Undoubtedly, this guy was a wimp. But he was a selfless wimp. In another life, he might have made a decent hunter (if he traded the chicken nuggets for something else). Dean leaned against the wall. "You got a name?"

Foureyes stood still and looked up quizzically. "Huh? You want-"

"Hey, we might as well. I can't exactly keep you in the dark if you already know what's out there. That and. . ." Dean sniffed sharply, "The situation's not looking good. I'm going to need some extra help, whether I like it or not."

 _And believe me, I don't. But I'm out of a partner and out of luck right now._

Foureyes stared back. He didn't quite relax at those words. Rather his worry seemed to solidify and harden his posture and countenance. ". . . It's Fritz." He extended a hand to shake and seal the deal. "Fritz Smith."

"Dean." The other man accepted. "Not for nothing, but can we talk about that book?"

"It's easier to show you. C'mon." Fritz led the way out of the bathroom. "We just gotta go get Jeremy. I'm not sure it's ok to have left him for so-"

"Oh, there you are."

Just outside the bathroom exit, stood Ivory. Not the same Ivory. Gone was the attentive and gentle mannerisms of a perfect nurse. Her posture was tight and tense, as though keeping some indescribable rage bottled and in check. The air around her seemed to boil and bubble. Perhaps it had something to do with the gangly man in the Cubs cap that hung from the scruff of his shirt. Jeremy grinned and waved enthusiastically. "Hi, guys~!"

Fritz shook his head and covers his face with one hand, accepting defeat. Dean looked between the three of them, confused.

"I believe this is yours. Found him in the amputee ward waving his hands in front of the amputated limbs and asking if the patients still felt it." The nurse shoved Jeremy towards Fritz and Dean. "Why don't we just email you the bill later. For now, get out and never disturb the patients here again."

SPN x FNAF

". . . Jeremy."

"Hm? What's up?"

"You just got us kicked out of another hospital."

"So? We get kicked out of those all the time."

"Yes! Exactly! That makes four times now!"

"What's your point?"

"There are only three hospitals in the area!"

"Hey, four out of three! That's kinda like extra credit, isn't it?"

". . . C'mon. Jeremy. Let's hop in the car. I need to drive for a bit."

SPN x FNAF

"Wait, you're not an officer?"

They were making their way down the road again. The clouds had broken, from the looks of it. If it rained, it must not have been bad. Hopefully the Impala survived and remained where it was. Honestly, who would mess with an old wrecked car on the side of the road? Dean tapped a foot from the cramped back seat of the truck. It was a 67' Chevy Impala, regardless of the shape it was in. Maybe it would be gone. Dean scooted away from the blankets and boxes of snack bars thrown in the back. At least he didn't have to share a seat with Mr. Potty-Mouth up front there.

"No. I was one of the night guards." Fritz white-knuckled the steering wheel and glanced frantically between the three mirrors. He even occasionally looked over his shoulder and out the back window. "Got fired first night on the job for tampering with the animatronics. And if that wasn't enough, they said I smelled. Point is, I was trying to figure out what happened. I doubt that asking around would have helped much."

"What did you figure out?"

"Tch. Where do I start?"

"The beginning," suggested Jeremy, arm out the window and making his hand dive in and out of the wind as the truck sped along. "That's where the best stories begin. And breakfast."

The redhead pondered this seriously (or as seriously as anyone else could). "He's not wrong. But my beginning. . . I don't even know where to begin. Bad things were happening before I decided to work there. Really, the only reason I took the job was because Jeremy here had it before I did. And even then. . . I fear I might have been too late." He paused. "But I know there's someone behind it. There's have been too many bread crumbs for it to not have someone behind it."

"Seems like you're passionate about it. What made you go to these lengths? No offense, but someone like you probably isn't the right tool for the job."

". . . I think your beginning would be more helpful, Dean. How long have you been in Aurora? And why did you come?"

Avoiding the question, huh? Judging from the tone of his voice, it was probably best that he didn't push any more for now. The hunter leaned back in the seat and tried to ignore the strong scent of burning propane and bad oil. "A few days. Me and my brother were on the road and decided to stop by. We're looking for. . . someone important. Thought there would be a trace here."

"Oh. I'm sorry you lost them."

". . . It happens. Back on topic, though. If you want the expert, you should talk to my brother. He's spent more time scoping the place than I have."

"Scoping, huh? You guys got an interesting hobby."

"More like a 'family business'."

"I see." Jeremy reached up to poke the center rearview mirror. Fritz fixed it. "Goes ahead and call him. Put him on speaker."

Call him. Call him up right now? Dean shoved his hand in his pocket for his cellphone into his pocket and stopped. He wrapped his fingers all the way around, feeling the device and the weight of the current decision. Dean bit his lip. Something told him Sam wasn't going to be very receptive to a phone call, especially after. . .

 _"Yeah, I might. It's part of the damn job, Dean. You should know- You're the one who dragged me with you!"_

Yeah, that.

"I'm sorry, is something wrong? Did your phone die?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, no. Hang on. I'll call him." At the driver's words, Dean fished out his cell phone and dialed the number. Regardless, he still left Sam at that place for longer than he should have. The older brother held his breath as he waited for the clamshell cell phone to connect. Long and hollow, the device rang once.

The device rang twice. Dean felt his mouth dry out.

A third ring began, but ended abruptly.

" _H. . . Hello?"_

Dean startled. That was not Sam. "Who is this?"

" _Eeep!"_

 _Click._

He pulled the phone away from his ear, puzzled at the tone beeping through the ear piece. That was a girl's voice. A familiar girl's voice. It had to be that skittish worker from the other day. What was she doing with Sam's phone? Best case scenario, she was with him and just took the call for him. Worst case, Sam was either in trouble or the girl had made off with the device in some strange mix up. "Shit," Dean breathed.

"What? What happened?"

"Dunno. I think someone else got his phone. Think we can pick him up?"

"Oh, sure. No prob. Where is he?"

"Where? Freddy Fazbears, most likely. Given who he's with, I don't think-"

Tires screeched. The entire car pulled back hard, then threw every passenger against their seats belts in the rushed, complete stop. Fritz turned his head over the edge of the driver's seat, grabbing on to twist his body and get a better look. "You left him at the pizzeria?!"

Dean startled. Who would have thought this guy could yell? "Well, yeah. We. . . got in a fight after the night shift-"

"You let him take the night guard position!?"

Silence. Dean opened his mouth, but no words came out. Fritz snarled. He threw the car into reverse, pulled the vehicle back and started to drive the opposite direction. Dean pressed his face and hands up against the tiny truck window, looked back on the road they were just traveling down. "Hey, where're you going? My car's back there!"

"I don't give a damn if it's a gold plated Maserati!" Fritz shrieked into the steering wheel. "Fuck your stupid car! Buy another one, for all I care! We're going to get your brother because your dumb ass just left him in a fucking slaughterhouse and you're only going to get one brother like him and if you have a problem, I will turn this car around and dump your ass in a snake infested ditch! Do I make myself fucking clear?!"

His words rang out within the walls of the vehicle and left the hunter's ears ringing. So it really was that serious, was it?

Jeremy leaned around the headrest and glanced at Dean. "I think you're in trouble," he whispered. "He never yells at me like that."

The hunter frowned and leaned beck in his seat. Suddenly he wasn't as preoccupied with his Impala as before.

SPN x FNAF

Fritz was damn dear horrified to see Dean carry the limp, over six feet tall body of his younger sibling out of the building. After a good five minutes of explaining, the redhead wasn't convinced as much as he was eased into the possibility that Sam was fine. Jeremy searched the truck for all of five seconds trying to get a marker before he forgot about it and found some stale popcorn in the back. Anything to keep him still after he ran in and out of the restaurant with some scissors from the kids' craft section inside. Instead of the back seat, Dean opted for the bed of the truck. At least it would be easy to keep his brother in one spot and to let him lay down.

Pale. Clammy. Shaky. Sam was alive, but only at the bare minimum. That was probably thanks to the skittish woman. For the entirety of the car ride, Dean kept a pair of fingers on Sam's neck. He couldn't bear to lose track of his pulse for even a second.

SPN x FNAF

"Oh my God. . . It's actually working!"

"Yeah? You said he can only focus on what's going on immediately in front of him. I figured this would help. It was kind of spur of the moment, to be honest."

"I don't know why I never thought of it before! I could have avoided all the restraining orders and stress for ten bucks at Office Depot!"

Well, that wasn't how they acquired the item. That was more how the owner of the motel acquired the item. It was on a trip to buy school supplies. They couldn't quite remember if they were in the third or fourth grade, but she just absolutely had to have it. She kept it on her desk and would flip it to help her finish her homework quicker. But she simply couldn't resist the way the little beads of color caught the light and swirled around and around in a sort of orderly dance. In the end, she took more time on her homework than when she started and the trinket had been a beloved keepsake ever since, even taking a proud place on the reception desk at the first floor. And when Jeremy first laid eyes on it, it was the first time he had been quiet for the whole day.

And what was the thing that kept this man, who had the attention span of a goldfish, occupied for several minutes?

An oil and water hourglass. Jeremy sat with his chin on his hands, flat on the table, staring unblinking as the tiny green and yellow droplets raced down the zig-zagged tracks. If it was running down, all Fritz had to do was flip it back over. It was a godsent trade for apologizing to the managers of individuals who wanted them to sign restraining orders.

Dean scrunched his brow to inspect the man. "So, if you don't mind me asking. . . What exactly is wrong with him?"

"Do you mean the lack of inhibition, lack of fear response, nonexistent attention span or overwhelming forgetfulness?"

". . . Let's go with all of the above. Assuming it's all one thing, that is."

Fritz sadly huffed. He looked down at the album in his hands. Sure, the apology for yelling was already out of the way, but he didn't seem any more relieved. "Yeah, it is. It's because he worked at the same place your brother's working at."

"Excuse me?"

Fritz looked down, mournful. "There isn't an easy way to put this. I'll just come out and say it. He got in an accident. Had a nasty bite back in '87. Hasn't been the same since."

Oh, this was different. Different from the apologetic Fritz and the top-blown-off pissed Fritz. Even different from the all-hope-is-lost

"It's hard. I wonder if it's all worth it sometimes. He can't drive anymore, can't really get a job, can't take care of himself. But he's still my best friend. And every so often. . . I can kinda see him. Like inside this jumbled wreck, this whack-job I can't even recognize, the guy I used to talk to and watch the Sunday game with is still in there somewhere."

Fritz circled the edge of the table. Dean watched and listened.

"We used to be neighbors, you know. It was the eighties. You know, Iron Butterfly and NES and cold wars and all that jazz. And I was just some kid who needed some extra dough and decided to mow lawns for the summer. This guy- He would talk and talk, talk about the world and sports and didn't give much a damn that I was busy and couldn't pay attention to him. He was younger back then. I get the feeling that maybe he was alone, but I never asked. I try to now and. . . well, you can probably imagine how that goes.

"Sometime after that, in the colder months, he got himself as a job as a security guard at that pizzeria. I was happy for him. The crash in '87 was a nasty one. Left some of us eating air sandwiches. So this guy has at least a shred of hope at keeping his house and putting some food on the table. And. . . I really had no clue this would happen."

Fritz lifted the cap ever so slightly off Jeremy's head. He didn't move. And then, Dean could see it. Jagged, faded, wrapping all around the balding head like stitched in a square of fabric. Dark segments of scar tissue arched all around he forehead like a ring of big, sharp teeth.

"Do you know what it's like? Seeing someone you know and care about both alive and dead at the same time? Like they can walk and talk, but whatever makes them who they are just up and died without notice?"

Silence. Dean turned his head away.

" _What do you think? Do you think Sammy is ready to toss around a football yet?"_

Yeah.

" _I told you not to leave this room! I told you not to let him out of your sight!"_

He knew. "So how's this tie into what happened?"

"How do you think?" Fritz put the hat back on. "They hurt my friend. I thought if I could get some evidence of that, I could get some kind of lawsuit against them. Almost tried to frame them"

"Tampering with the animatronics?"

"I tried. When my shift was done, I tried to take a peek inside. I didn't see the bite or the wound at the time, but Mangle had a broken jaw. I figured that was the one who bit him. But I opened 'em up and. . . well, Mangle stank. Bad."

"Like rotten meat?"

"More like reanimated corpses." Jeremy slapped the book on the table. "And I found what looked like bloodstains in the metal framework. I probably would have found dead skin if I wasn't caught. I don't think they needed me to frame. Something bad was already going down long before I got there."

Reanimated corpses. That would explain the smell. And now that he thought about it, Dean did see strange little smudges in the fur. "So then the children who disappeared were most likely killed and stuffed in those suits."

Fritz nodded. "That, I think, was just the start of it all."

The redhead opened the book to the first page. Then he took that page and unfolded it by three of four times. He had taped them all together- what they held couldn't be contained to one. And what had been laid out, too long to keep all of it on the table, was a timeline. The earliest event had been dated at 1979 and lay closest to the spine, while the present day spilled over the edge of the furniture. He pointed to the first point closest to the spine.

"It wasn't always a pizzeria like you know it now," he began. "Back in the day it was just a small business, a single location. It was called Fredbear Family Diner. I actually remember seeing old advertising for it pretty vividly. And this was where the first crime took place."

"First crime?"

"You think the kids were disappearing only just recently?" Fritz gave a dry laugh. "No. Like I said, this was where it all started. A boy's corpse was found outside of the diner. Dead, of course. But a killer was never convicted, let alone tried. It could have been lack of evidence, primordial forensics, whatever. And sure, someone tried to sue the business, probably the kid's parents. The diner wasn't found liable, though."

Foureyes turned the pages, holding up a stack in his hand and pointing to a new set of articles. And just like he said, many depicted a boy's dilapidated corpse and a small, humble building. The headlines told it all. _Bloody Murder! Boy's body found near beloved family diner,_ for one. _Death is not the end: New start announced for Fredbear's Family Diner_ , for another. Each article had been scribed in black ink on faded yellow paper.The redhead turned back to the timeline.

"This murder," Fritz tapped the page, "Is what sets _everything_ in motion."

Was it really? It was nice to have some new articles to look at, but it wasn't enough.

"After that they pretty much rebranded. What was once Fredbear Family Diner is now Fazbear entertainment-"

"Wait, wait, wait." Dean straightened up and put out a hand. "You said they rebranded."

Fritz looked up quizzically. "Uh, yeah. Why-"

"Just wondering. Give me a second." Dean rushed to Sam's bag leaned up against his bedpost. He dug around almost frantically, didn't stop until he felt faded leather binding. Dean ripped out his father's journal, tore through the pages, searching, and-

. . . My God. So it was true. Dean feasted his eyes on the yellowed journal pages and gripped the book tight.

 _October, 1985. Denver, Colorado._

 _The year Sam was born was the first time that this franchise had been associated with a violent act against a child. To think I ever wanted to take my boys here for a normal family meal._

 _The original building is run down by now. Fredbear's Family Diner isn't much more than a worn down relic that the original owners would like to forget. Bastards even sold the name and rebranded. No doubt they'll try something like that again after the disappearance of five children this past July. I came hoping to find the spirit of that first child and drive it out, keep it from hurting anyone. Rumor has it that a boy was murdered outside of the diner. He probably wasn't much older than Dean is now. By the time I arrived, however, the child was gone. I don't know if another hunter took care of it or it moved somewhere else. Two other beings took it's place. One in the shape of an animatronic bear, and the other a rabbit. White eyes, white teeth, black or purple bodies. They didn't appear to be malevolent, at least not yet. The bear sat slumped against the wall while the rabbit stood and stared at me, both disappearing in the blink of an eye. I didn't smell any sulfur, nor did I see any black smoke- Probably not demons. Cold pockets of air and frozen breath imply the presence of a ghost, but no traces of ectoplasm were present. My flashlight flickered every now and again. EMF readings were moderately strong, but most likely only because there were two spirits present and not a single angry one. They most likely came here because of the first spirit- ghosts have been known to be drawn to other supernatural energies._

 _I've buried rock salt in a ring around the building. It should keep those things in place until I can find a way to get them out for good. I just hope no one tries to go in and disturb them- it won't end well._

In the lower left hand corner of one page and the blank half of the other, the two spectres had been sketched in black, ballpoint ink. Despite John's description, neither were filled in. Wires spilled out of some of the orifices, microphone resting in a lax hand, white eyes looking to the being's right and torso resting on the knees. A top hat sat upon the bear's head. The rabbit sketch wasn't exactly complete. While the eyes and teeth were put in place, anything below the elbows and torso ended in empty space. Perhaps John couldn't tell where the darkness ended and the spirit began. Dean shook his head. "So Dad _was_ here."

"You. . . You're not like other people, are you?"

Dean ran his finger over the sketches. "How do you figure?"

"You believe me, for one." Foureyes reached for the water timer to flip it over for Jeremy. "You're pursuing it head first for another and you seem to know what's going on."

No one else in the room spoke any objections to that.

". . . Can you do it? Can you put an end to it all?"

Dean paused a moment. He looked back at his brother sleeping on the bed, curled up and tangled in the lavender comforter. Sam twitched, knocking his foot against the bed frame. The older looked to the ground again and. . .

"Yeah." He straightened up and stood confident. "We'll take them out. They're not going to hurt anyone else. But you have to tell me everything."

Fritz nodded. "Alright. Grab a drink. It's going to be a long study session."

SPN x FNAF

 _Krkrkrrrrrkrrreeeeeeerrkrkrkrkrrrrrkrkrkrrreeeeeeekrkrkrrrrr~_

Dean stared down at the device in his hand, watching the lights on the side flicker. That shouldn't have been right. Not right at all. Sam was human. He wasn't acting strange at all. And if it were just left at that, it could be good news.

It wasn't.

"If that's that damn EMF reader again, I will clock you in the throat."

Dean startled and shut off the device. He stood up from his hunched position and mulled over the signs in his head. Refusal to eat. Refusal to drink. Fatigue. Fever. Excessive sleep. Lethargy. Irritability. Low levels of spectral radiation. There was no doubt about it. Sam wasn't possessed. His quip proved that. But he had definitely been hanging around that pizzeria and it's inhabitants for way too long. This was most likely some ghost sickness.

It was Dean's fault. If he hadn't abandoned Sam like that, he wouldn't be like this.

"Don't worry about it if it really bugs you."

The older brother stopped pacing (he didn't even realize that he was) and looked to his brother. Sam's bed head defied gravity, sticking up and curving in all kinds of impossible shapes. His lips pouted from the close contact between his face and the pillow. The blankets were twisted like pretzels, one corner hanging off the mattress and the other covering the lower half of Sam's body. Dean didn't care much about that. The sunken eyes, sickly pallor and slurred words were more concerning.

"I'll let you come with. Just hide like before."

So he really was intent on going back for another night. Even thought that was the object of Dean's thoughts. Dean huffed. Seemed like he lost either way. Might as well lose for a good cause. ". . . Alright, fine. We can do that." _On one condition, that is._ "Just let me handle the cameras this time."

Sam cracked an eye open. "I'm sorry?"

"Dude, c'mon." _Don't make this more difficult for me, please._ "You're being paid minimum wage to sit in an office with a computer that probably still has MS DOS on it. It can't be that difficult to operate unless you're feeling like shit like you are now."

The single eye rolled up to the ceiling. Even the brow knit inwards a bit. Being as sluggish as he was, the bastard didn't even move. "Yeah, sure. Fine. Whatever." The eye slid shut.

The weight on Dean's shoulders felt lighter. "Good." He sat on the edge of the bed. "Go ahead and chill a bit more, see if you feel better. I'll wake you up when it's time to go."

Sam may or may not have given an answer. When he flipped over, he could have just been trying to find a better position or could have signaled Dean to let him sleep. A minute later, the younger's breathing became even, bordering on a soft snore. In a short time and too long a time, he was asleep.

 _"I just want to go to sleep."_

 _". . . Ok."_

 _". . ."_

 _"It'll all be better when you wake up."_

Dean sure as hell hoped so.

SPN x FNAF

 _Ring~_

 _Ring~_

 _Ring~_

 _Ca-click._

 _"Uh, hello, hello! See? I told you you wouldn't have any problems! Did, uh, Foxy ever appear in the hallway?"_

Left vent. Right vent. Lights. Music box.

 _"Probably not. I was just curious. Like I said, he was always my favorite."_

Vents. Lights. Music box.

 _"They tried to remake Foxy, you know? Uh, they thought the first one was too scary so they redesigned him to be more kid-friendly and put him in Kid's Cove. To keep the toddlers entertained, you know. . ."_

"Dean. . . Head. . ."

The older brother shut the monitor off and reached for the Chica head. Looking up through the mascot's eye sockets, he could see that the real Chica had decided to pop in for a visit. It didn't even seem to look at him, bulbous, purple eyes pinned on the wall behind him. Red and blue wires spilled out of her yellow wrists and her jaw lay open, revealing two sets of teeth that could bite into someone's head like a musty apple. The lights blazed, buzzed and flickered.

 _"But kids these days just can't keep their hands to themselves. The staff literally had to put Foxy back together after every shift. Eventually they just stopped trying and left him as some kind of 'take apart and put back together' attraction. Now he's just a mess of parts."_

Then she was gone. The head was off. Dean went back to the cameras. "How you holding up there, champ?"

 _"I think the employees just refer to him as 'The Mangle'."_

He, of course, referred to the brother he foolishly decided to bring along for the journey. And it didn't really occur to him to see if Sam could call in sick. Honestly, he just wanted this to be over already. It was night three. Day three. Jobs never lasted this long. But he also never had to deal with asshats with pieces of their brains missing or Sam's abilities acting up in this particular way.

Speaking of which. . .

"Hey, Sam. You ok?"

 _"Uh. . . Oh, hey. Before I go, uh, I wanted to ease your mind about any rumors you may have heard lately. You know how these local stories come and go and seldom mean anything. I can personally assure you that, whatever is going on out there and however tragic it may be, has nothing to do with our establishment. It's all rumor and speculation. . . People trying to make a buck, you know. . ."_

Wearing the bear head and leaned forward over the back of the only chair in the office, Sam folded his arms and rested his head. In his normal state, he would just say he was fine and get back to whatever he was doing. This obviously was not his normal state. When they left the motel, he was just fine. A little woozy, a little off, but still able to function enough to drive and walk. And then they walked in here. Not even a half hour into the shift and he was just as bad as before, maybe even worse. Headache, fatigue, nausea, and so on. Every time the younger spoke, the older brother felt his chest tighten with guilt.

 _"Uh. . . Our guard during the day has reported nothing unusual. And he's on watch from opening til close. Ok, well anyways, hang in there and I'll talk with you tomorrow."_

Sam grabbed at his scalp through the Freddy head again. "The hallway," he moaned. "The hallway. . ."

Dean flicked the light on. An animatronic bear stood frozen in the middle of the corridor, just like Sam said. Dean huffed. At least he was useful. Whatever the puppet did to him, it was both harmful and helpful. Sam seemed to have a sixth sense concerning where the other animatronics were in the building, maybe even had them down to the inch. It kept them alive, to put it simply. For that, Dean didn't mind letting his brother have the chair and taking a few boxes to sit on instead.

What he did mind, though, was the silence. Something about having Sam mumble out where the animatronics were and not hearing anything wasn't right. No footsteps, no vents creaking, nothing. Maybe the white fox- no, _Mangle_ , was alright, but only because that one had that God awful garble and screwed around with the camera feed. Like, son of a bitch, she was an ugly fucker. While winding up the music box yet again, Dean patted the desk for the phone. If he was just going to be doing this over and over again, not to mention for 6 hours straight, he might as well make the time worthwhile. "Hey, you mind if I play the next one."

Sam grunted. Dean shrugged and pressed the button.

 _Ring~_

 _Ring~_

 _Ring~_

 _Ca-click._

 _"Hello, hello? Uh, hey there, night four! I told you you'd get the hang of it!"_

Dean smirked to himself. Yeah, he did, didn't he? And on his first night, no less. He slid back into his rhythm of checking lights, winding the music box, and donning the Chica head with Sam's mumbled warning.

" _Ok, so, uh, just to update you , uh, there's been somewhat of an investigation going on. Uh, we may end up having to close for few days. . . I don't know."_

Freddy decided to pop in, but Dean's attention was divided. An investigation? About what? Sam did say these messages were pre-recorded, but there wasn't a time specified as to when. Was it possible that this took place during one of the "instances" Fritz spoke of?

 _"I want to emphasize though that it's really just a precaution. Uh, Fazbear Entertainment denies any wrong doings. These things happen sometimes. Um. . . It'll all get sorted out in a few days. Just keep an eye on things and I'll keep you posted."_

Yup, that lined up. Fritz's theory of the children being outright murdered just got another leg to stand on. Why mention that if something didn't go wrong? He would have to relay the information the next time he ran into him.

 _"Uh, just as a side note, though, try to avoid eye contact with any of the animatronics tonight if you can. Someone may have tampered with their facial recognition systems. . . we're not sure. But the characters have been acting very unusual, almost aggressive towards the staff."_

Sam started to stir again. Something hit the floor. The older brother looked over his shoulder. His sibling dropped the water bottle that Dean gave to him. And sure enough, he grovelled in pain and groaned another warning. "Vents. . . then vents. . ."

"Hey, it's ok." Dean left the computer to offer some comfort. "Just take it easy. Rest a bit if you can."

"Vents. . ."

 _"They interact with the kids just fine, but when they encounter an adult they just. . . stare."_

"Hey, think of it this way: Whatever they are, they're corporeal. They have solid bodies, walk around, all that stuff. None of them can hurt us unless they're in the room."

Sam raised his head. Through Freddy's eye sockets, Dean could see green irises crowned in a harsh red. "Not even the puppet," he asked.

 _"Uh. . . Anyways, hang tight, It'll all pass. Good night!"_

"Not even the puppet." The older brother retrieved the bottle from the ground and put it back in Sam's hands. "Drink your water, Sammy."

The only reply he got was a nod. Dean was back at the desk and flicked the lights on with the childish chime of "Hello". Sure enough, one of them was poking their head out of the left vent. Big blue eyes, stupid looking propellor beanie- Yeah, Dean hated that one already. He rushed to put the Chica head on. Yeah, maybe just keep his attention on this at all times. If not, he and his brother were dead meat.

The vents creaked to the left and the sound eventually disappeared. Dean ripped the head off, played the next message and went back to the cameras. No more boy with the balloon.

 _Ring~_

 _Ring~_

 _Ring~_

 _Ca-click._

 _"Hello, hello? H-hey, good job! Night five! Uh, hey, keep a close eye on things tonight, ok?_

The chair creaked behind the older sibling. Sam took a sharp intake of breath. ". . . Dean?"

"What's up?"

"What is _that_?"

 _"Um, from what I understand, the building is on lockdown. Uh, no one is allowed in or out, y'know, especially concerning any . . . previous employees."_

"What's what? Feel something again?"

"You said you wouldn't let any of them get in. . ."

Dean felt his stomach sink. Let any in the room? Did one of them get in? He tore his eyes eyes away from the monitor and searched corner to corner. But there was nothing. He turned to check on Sam, who kept his eyes trained on the old T.V. Dean cocked his head. "What, the tube?"

"Just. . ." Sam inhaled slow. "Don't make any sudden movements."

" _Um, when we get it all sorted out, we may just move you to the day shift. A position just became . . . available. Uh, we don't have a replacement for your shift yet, but we're working on it."_

Dean looked back to the left corner of the room, then stood to walked towards it, despite Sam's protests. The older sibling waved his hand in the air, testing the temperature, then in front of the tube. No noticeable changes. Nothing. Dean sighed. Did he really have to add hallucinations to the list of weird shit going on with his brother? He returned to his seat on the boxes. "Sammy, it's fine. I checked. No cold pockets. I think this place it just getting to you. Maye the air's so stuffy it's making you hallucinate."

Sam stared back at his brother, petrified. He didn't bother to take the head off, glancing back and forth between him and the corner of the room.

" _We're going to try to contact the original restaurant owner. Uh, I think the name of the place was. . . 'Fredbear's Family Diner' or something like that. It's been closed for years, though. I doubt we'll be able to track anybody down."_

"Ok, I'm sorry man." He put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I shouldn't have brought you back here. Just. . . hang on a little longer, ok? It's not safe to leave in the middle of the night like this."

" _Well, just get through one more night! Uh, hang in there! Good night!"_

Well, that was a short one. Not to mention it told him everything he already knew. Facing the camera, Dean heard the god awful garble so characteristic of Mangle. As fast as he could, he put the Chica head on again. That was what the guy on the phone said, right? But the head on until they left? Eventually the noise faded into silence. Dean ripped the head off and pressed the button again.

Granted, it was only an action. A reflex. He was told there were only five messages. But the recording begins again and it's . . . both good and bad news.

 _Ring~_

 _Ring~_

 _Ring~_

 _Ca-click._

" _Hello, hello! Uh, what on earth are you doing there!? Didn't you get the memo?"_

Bad news because something bad did happen here. Good because it reconfirmed Fritz's theory. If the fourth night phone call wasn't proof enough, that is.

 _"Uh, the place is closed down, a-at least for a while."_

Dean heard the bottle fall again. He turned around to pick it back up, but stopped. Sam wasn't in his chair. Rather he was standing up.

Motionless.

Silent, for all he complained about just a little bit ago.

 _"Someone used one of the suits. . . We had a spare in the back. A yellow one. Someone used it. Now none of them are acting right. . ."_

"Sam?" Dean flew out of his seat and was by his brother's side in an instant. "Hey, Sam. Look at me. You ok?" He waved a hand in front of the bear face. There was no response. He reached up to grab the shoulders and shake them. Still nothing. The older brother could bear it no more. He ripped off Freddy's head. Sam stared wide eyed at the wall. Dean inspected closer. The younger brother's complexion had gone pale. No part of him moved, except for the eyes, darting back and forth as though he were stuck in a dream.

Or stuck in a premonition.

 _"Listen, j-just finish your shift. It's safer than trying to leave in the middle of the night."_

Well, shit. It was official- Sam was down for the count. There wasn't even any other warnings. No pain, no agony. Was there really something in the room with them? Shit, he should have listened. He should have believed-

"H. . . E. . ."

 _"Uh, we have one more event scheduled for tomorrow: A birthday. You'll be on day shift."_

Chills ran down Dean's spine immediately. This definately not how the other visions were. No matter how outlandish the things seen were, sam never spelled any out as he was watching. But here he was, just mumbling along. "L. . . P. . . T. . ."

Help? Ok. Help. Help what?

"H. . . E. . . M. . ."

Help them? Wait, who? How? What was that even supposed to mean? Dean grabbed Sam's shoulders again and-

"Aha ha ha ha~!"

 _"Wear your uniform, stay close to the animatronics, make sure they don't hurt anyone, ok?"_

Dean whipped his head around. A boy stood in front of the T.V. Shit, it was the same one that was trying to get in earlier. Propeller beanie, yellow and red balloon, big blue eyes and stupid grin. The shirt matched the hat and the kid stood there. He smiled. He laughed.

"Aha ha ha ha~!"

 _"Uh, for now, Just make it through the night. Uh, when the place eventually opens again, I'll probably just take the night shift myself."_

This wasn't good. The last time one of them got in the room it didn't end well. But maybe it wouldn't be so bad. All it was doing was sitting there. Sitting there and laughing like a dumb ass.

"Aha ha ha ha~!"

"H. . . E. . . L. . ."

 _"Ok, good night. And good luck."_

Dean put the head back on his brother and dove for the cameras. He did what he could do ignore the animatronic sitting in the room. Both Freddies had gotten loose. Same for the Chicas and Bonnies.

"Aha ha ha ha~!"

The vents creaked. Dean hammered the light. Nothing happened. He tried again and swore. The lights were out.

"P. . . T. . ."

"Aha ha ha ha~!"

Something clanked down the hallway. Something was running this way.

"H. . ."

"Aha ha ha ha~!"

Dean dove for the Chica head, only to kick it away. He flailed for the fan, knocking it off the desk.

"E. . ."

But it was useless. He failed.

"Aha ha ha ha~!"

He failed his brother.

"M. . ."

"Aha ha ha ha~!"

He felt sick. "Sam, I'm sorry."

"Aha ha ha ha~!"

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry." He gripped his brother's shoulder-

 _Ding dong~, ding dong~_

Dean's eyes went straight for the source of the sound- a clock on the desk. The chime was sweet and simple. The face signaled in bright red numbers that it was 6 in the morning. The shift was over.

 _Ding dong~, ding dong~_

He looked up. Balloon boy was gone. From the looks of it, they survived the night. Dean didn't take the moment to breathe a sigh of relief, though. "Huh. Yay." Instantly, he was at his brother's side again, ripping the Freddy head off and inspecting the blank expression for something, _anything_. "Sam? Sammy, you in there?" Dean shook his head from the firm grip on his cheeks. "C'mon, say something!"

No response.

And then Sam was back. He sucked in an alarmed gasp and flailed to shove Dean's hands away. Sam looked around the room frantically. But more than that, he seemed confused. He was sweaty, pale, shaky. There was only one time when Sam would get like this and Dean didn't like the idea.

"I'm. . ." Sam took another deep breath. "I'm back here?"

And that just confirmed it. Sam had another vision while he was trying to keep them alive until dawn. "Where did you go?"

"Doesn't matter." Sam walked towards the office exit and looked back, waiting for the other. "I know what really happened here. C'mon. Let's leave before they decide to stay up late."

And with that, he was off. Dean looked the office over once again, then followed. From the look of things, neither would be getting caught up much on sleep in lieu of putting the pieces of this demented puzzle together.

SPN x FNAF

Wow, it's been over a year between chapters. Let's see how long it takes for this one

-Magician Irono.


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